


Shape Your Flesh - Episode III: The Three Seals of the Apocalypse

by PrimeanScribe



Series: Tales of Darkness [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimeanScribe/pseuds/PrimeanScribe
Summary: The battle against the terrifying demon is over, the scroll of legend, the ancient word, has been found. But three seals are missing in order to open it and recite its contents. To have even a chance of getting back to Tamriel and resume a normal life.Thorus' journey will come to an end. But at what price?
Series: Tales of Darkness [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908040
Comments: 8
Kudos: 1





	1. Lost Amongst the Dead

I

Neither in my dreams, nor in the waking world, could I have prognosticated the execrative flagrancy that I had up to this point already laid eyes upon - or the damnabilities I was yet to encounter in the future, up to my improbable escape from that dæmoniac plane of existence. 

The concept of duality, taught to generations upon generations of the Tamrielic citizens, tells us how to distinguish the moral from the amoral, it instructs us about night and day, light and dark, good and evil, always in direct opposition to one another. But it is this very concept of duality that forsook me the very second I stepped through that odious canvas, besmeared with blood and entrails - and worse.

Surreptitiously, ever so furtively, barely noticeable, if at all, the essence of what should erode my hitherto held beliefs in what was felonious and what was virtuous, in the nature of malevolence and benevolence, gently encroached, slithered into my harrowed mind. But not only it, my body befell a great affliction also, for my altered perception of spiritual and physical decrepitude caused me to commit misdeeds most hideous.

As we steadily progressed through this blood-soaked nightmare, I could feel my sanity slip from time to time, obscuring the boundaries, that usually lay fastened within my consciousness, betwixt the righteous and the loathsome. It continually blurred the lines until what I had feared as abhorrent in the past would become my wont.

In a similar manner could I observe this general, slow degradation of faith and virtue in my companions. Nephethys in particular appeared to be extraordinarily affected by what sinister power held us in its ethereal grasp. Her stout countenance steadily declined the deeper that rabbit hole went. The instances in which her mood heavily shifted to display aggression towards me became more numerous the longer our stay in that worldpersisted, despite her affection in respect to my body and spirit.

Even Shthelith, an Aímamer native to this forgotten region of time and space, seemed to be tragically unaware of the true nature of his homeland. He could not predict what evil writhed inside the High Priestess Sárka whom he used to answer to. Neither knew he of the Stained Glass Dæmon, nor what abyssal depths lay beyond the broken rose window, out of which the viscous void seeped so eerily.

The three of us realized that we were entirely vacuous pertaining to the realm we were in notwithstanding the time that we had at that point already spent surviving there.

Albeit none of us were too keen on uncovering all its mysteries, our fate was bound to them. And so, we set out to wander that deathly wasteland in an effort to retrieve the artifacts that we hoped would permit us egress. 

The heavy doors of the chapel swung open, a foetid air current passing us by to harass our nostrils, prompting me to cast one, final gaze into the droning nothingness behind us.

I had gotten used to the foul stench of old blood and burnt flesh, the noxious vapours that rose up from numerous spots throughout the hamlet surrounding the fane now barely upset me. Perhaps my sense of smell got numbed during our horrific trip through the great shredmound beneath the religious building. Whatever the reason might be, I began to view my general indifference towards such things as an advantage more so than anything.

The queerly illuminated sky enveloped us once more in its twilight radiance as we stepped out of the temple and into the village, the great, bending basalt walls of Bendicia looming in the background. 

The three of us trod past several decaying huts and partially broken shacks, whereupon I noticed this general air of disdain and resentment, but also fear, that these dilapidated buildings emitted. Out from the decrepit windows several pairs of glowing eyes would stare at us, following our every move, accompanied by shocked gasps and bewildered whispers. Some shifted nervously back and forth, others averted their gaze quickly and still others did neither move nor blink at all, instead glaring contemptibly at the group of foreigners that murdered their queen in cold blood.

None dared to leave their homes to possibly engage us. After all, we had slain their most powerful hemomancer. But perhaps their attitude had to do with the vitreous beast that had emerged hours after Sárka's demise. Shthelith was oblivious to its existence, so I believe the other blood elves were as well.

We stopped for a moment, small dust clouds gathering and dissipating as our boots came to a halt on the dry ground.

"I must wonder", Shthelith spoke, "whatever it will be my kin will do, now that thou hast slain our mistress. After all, Sárka had been the instructor, instrumental for my race to uphold the rites none else teacheth. Ah, I must wonder…", he said in an almost regretful tone, albeit my gut told me that a faint sense of ghastly premonition resonated within his words.

I paid it no mind and instead listened to Nephethys, who answered with much disregard for the Aímamer people.

"It matters not to me. As long as the rites forgotten include whatever I was subjected to enduring", she snapped, eyeing the houses around her. I could tell she was only barely able to contain the urge to murder the citizens of the hamlet. 

She held herself back, I presumed, to avoid slaughtering potentially innocent people. Mothers, fathers and children just trying to get by. But also because she knew full well that, in her current, emotional state she might succumb to a mad rage that cruel processions had given to her - unable to stop. Not only at them, but also at us.

Shthelith and I made the wise decision to stay quiet, lest we fuel her anger.

Back in the sepulchre, our remarks had already beckoned her to fury. As such, there was no telling as to what her current attitude of loathing could invoke. She had grown mighty, after all.

In an effort to break the uncomfortable silence that hence unfolded, I questioned Shthelith about the possible destinations available to us from this point forward:

"Where will we go now?", I asked, knowing of at least three different places we must visit in order to break the seal on the Old Word. But most importantly, our rations were depleted, our dresses ripped to shreds in response to the fight prior. Without sufficient protection and empty stomachs, the three of us could not hope to last a single day in these conditions. 

"I ponder…", Shthelith mumbled to himself before inhaling audibly, "I deem it best we head to my abode first. Ye armours are compromis'd. Methinks Shthelith hath a smattering of spare garbs for you both to wear over those tatters. As for provisions…".

He paused, his expression churning to display a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "I believe thou must procure it from the locals. By…  _ trade _ , mind thee". He subtly gestured over to my gladius.

Nephethys and I understood what the queer elf sought to tell us and we worried profoundly at its meaning. But was it truly a moral dilemma if we took food from extradimensional mer? Before I could finish my thoughts that no doubt would have led me to despair, fragile as my mind had become, Shthelith fortunately interrupted them by burdening me with the task.

"Thou'rt an able swordsman, Thorus. And thy past accomplishments against the unsightly beasts of these lands permit thee to…  _ collect _ in the manner I suggest."

He spoke truthfully. It was obvious to the townspeople that, after the commotion that was caused within the chapel - twice, no less - we emerged victorious from the battles. This of course would instill fear into the hearts of the residents, making them easy sources of resources I presumed. However, I would go on to do everything I could to persuade the people rather than threatening them.

"And we shall make our way to my house. I will bestow upon thee sacred garments for thee to cover thy skin. Amongst other things", Shthelith said to the scantily clad Dunmer woman, eyeing her up and down to suggest less mentionable parts of Nephethys' body that got exposed during the fights, her armour in no way suitable to withstand another hit, much less to conceal her body.

She looked at him with curiosity in her eyes for a moment, probably wondering about the  _ other things _ , but agreed in the end.

As I watched my companions wander off, I took hold of my blade once more. I will, however, spare you the details of the following endeavor. Most of the locals were surprisingly cooperative. Some out of terror and fright, others due to nigh jubilation at the current state of affairs. But then there were those whom I had to murder for they assaulted me before I could even knock at their doors. To me, this was a gruesome task to carry out. I had seen enough bloodshed already and I felt that every elf I killed to sustain myself and my group took away from my conscience. 

I took as much as I was able to fit into my pockets and pouches. Though, the items designated for consumption were of extraordinary ilk. Fruit of alien shape and smell, coloured like mouldy apples and stale bread. Afore prepared items of foreign appearance. Steaming slop with weird clumps, squishy, almost wet bread. Nothing I've ever seen on Nirn compares to these, I'm afraid. In most cases, I was not even sure of the edibility of the items I took. Thankfully, I knew who could tell nourishment from poison.

I reckon the most normal thing was baked scavenger meat alongside some grilled vegetables that at least didn't look like they've been laying in the sun for a few decades.

When I returned from my gathering trip to finally arrive at Shthelith's house, I beheld a most peculiar scene after I entered. Rather serenely, Nephethys, clad in one of the holy robes of the Aímamer, levitated just a few centimetres above the floor in the centre of the room while our friendly blood elf gave her instructions on how to perform what I assumed to be a spell of some kind. It seemed that I was a bit late, for she already came down again and I missed whatever incantation it was that he taught to her. A pool of blood to her feet told of a sinister kind of magic though.

"Magnificent!", Shthelith exclaimed with much joy and to my personal dismay. If a person of his standards deems something grand, it surely must be something portentous. 

I inspected the Dunmer more closely. In doing so, I took note of a few things that would come to bother me in the days ahead.

Her skin appeared to have lightened into a more ashen shade of grey than the usual anthracite colouring. And while the ceremonial robe she wore was sure to prevail much better in terms of physical protection against possible hazards, covering up the blades that made up her legs, it also seemed to 'pierce' her flesh in places. Likely, I inferred, to amplify the strength of magics related to, or relying on, blood.

But what upset me the most was her expression whenever she wielded these detestable powers. She was never her usual self when she drew from these forces. I was aware that this change only occurred when she engaged in hemomancy, yet I feared Nephethys might opt to prefer this kind of weapon over others which might alter her personality at length.

I admitted it to myself - I was deathly afraid of losing her to madness and bloodlust. But at the same time, I had to also admit to the fact that this 'new' Nephethys was radiant with a strange kind of allure alongside the feel of a majestic presence.

Before long, the mystical energy faded and she returned to normal again.

"I can see thou'rt disturb'd, Thorus", Shthelith chimed in, "But affrighted thou must not be, forwhy I only seek to embolden this one's corpus and spirit to awaken the greatness within her".

All of a sudden, I caught myself questioning the Aímamer's true motivations. I knew that he posed an indisposable asset for his knowledge of the land. Moreover, our chances of survival were greatly increased the more members our group contained. Nonetheless, I could not help but to become sceptical of his doings. He clearly must have seen the drastic changes that Nephethys undergoes whenever he taught her something new.

Before I could begin my counter argument, Nephethys broke the silence my long-lasting thinking brought about. 

"I think you should don some new robes, Thorus. Oh, and I see you've brought us provisions as well! I believe we're ready to continue our journey then."

I didn't respond. An inaudible, disappointed sigh escaped my mouth as I unravelled the different kinds of queer food I had acquired. The two of them were impressed and, after Shthelith had thoroughly evaluated the contents of my booty, he remarked that this should last us a couple of days.

Before long, he beckoned me to his side. I knew what was about to happen. But I didn't know if I would feel at all comfortable in the garments that I should soon wear. I was knowing of the benefits these robes would provide - much needed camouflage in a world filled with blood drunk madmen and added, physical protection to make up for my own, tattered garb. But at the same time I felt strangely alienated as soon as I exchanged my coat, once a sign of a prestigious servant to the Empire, for the red fabric of the blood elves.

Shthelith and Nephethys no doubt could see just how uncomfortable I was as I wriggled my arms through the semi-rigid sleeves when I fancied I felt a slight tug at some of my hairs, most likely getting caught within the cloth.

My companions did not comment on my struggle, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that they harboured internal amusement at the sight of my coarse movement. 

I grew taciturn when I discovered a small slash mark on the robe that I donned, instantly arresting my attention to yet another harrowing truth I did not want to know. For amidst the slight damage in my attire I spotted several strands of white protruding from the hole.

All of a sudden it became abundantly clear why the entire garb felt awfully mouldy, furthermore explaining the rigidity of the cloth.

_ It was soaked in blood. _

A wave of sickness swept over me, crashing into my gut as my skin was covered in sanguine mould. I did my very best to hide what horror my eyes would have usually given away but I failed quite spectacularly. Frenzied, I tore open the garb and threw it onto the floor. Under heavy breathing, I stared at my fellows and proclaimed: "I am not wearing that". Shthelith, taken back by my reaction but speechless in return, only nodded in acknowledgement and slowly handed me my seriously compromised coat.

What worried me more so than having come into physical contact with the abundantly sullied fibre was that Nephethys seemed to be absolutely uncaring in respect to what bestial processes must have been required in order to make that robe. I was tempted to advise against it, but the way in which she revelled in it was intimidating, to say the least. Perhaps, I thought, the rite conducted on her did not only enable her progressing attunement to the resident hemomancy but also would cause her to adopt the ways of the aímeri people to a terrifying extent. Or the alterations to her magical resonance, even, could be held responsible for the indifference she was increasingly prone to display towards otherwise frowned upon methodologies one does not experience on Nirn - at least, not that I know of.

I never told her what I felt in that moment. What innermost apocalypse was wrenching my heart out to bear witness to a thing to be described almost as treachery if not for her tragic unawareness of the state of things. I should have taken the risk. I should have told her. What was the worst, possible consequence? An argument? Violence? Maybe even death? It does not matter. But in hindsight I believe that an early demise would have spared me the details that were yet to unfold. Albeit I could not tell where my soul would go if I was to die in that place. But somehow, the idea of it, as it now crosses my mind, seems like a viable option to rid myself of these dark truths.

Before long, I caught myself looking profusely for excuses to the Dunmer's worsening state of mind. Even the Dark Brotherhood drew its line somewhere and I felt that this line had been crossed one too many times along the way. I knew that I was the one to consume human flesh, but she was the one to partake in unholy communion and a bloody baptism. 

After I dressed again in my usual attire, even if the Garb was somewhat chafed, Shthelith proposed we take action and begin to plan a route through the ravaged lands of the painted world. 

"I propose", Shthelith began, "to venture to the forest first. Frome there leadeth a path to get to our other destinations". He grabbed an empty piece of parchment from the nearby table and scrawled upon it a crude map, marking the locations of interest.

And it was true, such was the most logical route to be taken.

The Aímamer laid his index finger on the central point of the map - the aímeri hamlet where we were then. He slid his finger along the paper to show us that the cove, as he called it, lay directly to the east of our position. His fingertip then traveled down to point at the forest whereby he explained that we should go southeast instead, to the Decaying Woods, tapping multiple times on the spot. He further elaborated that heading there first would enable us to follow a long path, moving in a semi-circle around the closed off city of Bendicia. 

From the forest we would head north to the cove. From the cove, we were to then take a road that led further up north into the mountains, make a left and proceed west to an area Shthelith referred to as Hema's Peak. From the mountain top we'd then traverse the path down to the south, passing the 'Dripping Mounds' to circle back eastward to arrive at Bendicia with all three seals in hand.

A sound strategy.

The three of us could prepare for the oncoming adventure without further incident. And even though my garb was severely compromised, everything was better than to wear the sullied robes that Nephethys donned, although at that point I still had hope that she only did it because her very own armor had become quite revealing after the latest battles. I still retained some faith.

II

We had gathered the supplies we required for the trip to the woods. We all stood in front of the door to the outside. 

We knew where we needed to go, but the resolve to actually take the first step had yet to present itself. A queer thought crossed my mind at that moment. It was the impression that, maybe, we might be able to make a living here. To stop pursuing that mad lord and to try and circumvent the grave dangers of these lands and live together - or in coexistence - with the Aímamer people. 

I had already gone past the point of tolerable torture. I would have given anything for a chance to spare myself from the terror that was omnipresent in this world. I was tired, exhausted. Barely able to formulate a clear thought at times. Alas, I realized that resignation was out of the question. Forwhy as deeply as I desired to halt and not face what there still was to come, I wanted to go home just as much.

I inhaled deeply, pushing out a troubled sigh. 

Driven by a longing homesickness just as much as by a certain responsibility regarding my duties, I broke the silence and proclaimed it be time to go. Nephethys nodded, and Shthelith agreed rather gleefully. 

The feeble, wooden door swung open to reveal the dry sands once more to announce our advent.

We made for the Decaying Woods that lay situated near the shore to the southeast. Within, it was said, stood the proud fort of the Undead King, Shthelith explained. 

"He hath not always been the Undead King", the blood elf elaborated, "In fact, the forest used to be a lush copse once. Beautiful greenery and gay flower beds around a crystal clear stream that kaleidoscopically reflected the heavenly rays of an incandescent sun, bathing everything in a lustre most entrancing".

We wandered a few minutes until we saw the wood's outskirts and the first sets of dry, leafless trees came into view.

"What happened?", Nephethys inquired, giving away her concern with the wrinkles on her forehead. 

"Methinks I remember something about a terrible curse the King was afflicted with. If thou gazest across the horizon, thou mayst notice ruins of wooden huts that lay scatter'd among the stumps. For the King us'd to have a people he rul'd. But the curse took a hold of all and the King, together with his people, fell to a sickness most ravenous".

He paused for a moment and appeared to be suppressing a smile. 

"Now, all that's left are the undead husks that roameth the rotted copse. And the King, who awaiteth oblivion in his burg", he then closed in a manner similar to the old grandfather who would tell a story to his grandchildren. 

As Shthelith finished his sentence we were slowly approaching the thorny branches and collapsed huts. Indeed, if he spoke the truth, this place might very well be infested with the unliving. At least a change of pace, diverting from all the blood and flesh we had witnessed.

We walked further and began to scout out the entrance. As it was, these woods appeared to be an enclosed space underneath an open sky as the edges were lined with thick roots overgrown with spiky flora that would permit us no entry.

"It was not always like this", the blood elf enunciated. 

"One us'd to be able to enter the copse even without the path that leadeth to the fort and its village. But since the curse…".

Shthelith stopped as if it bothered him to talk about the curse that had befallen the King and his people. 

"Ah, it matters not. I believe the entrance lieth just a small ways over yonder", he pointed a little off to the left of the wild growths.

There appeared out of nowhere an opening within the thicket that so opaquely clouded our view. In the distance, only a dilapidated tower could be seen, emerging from the skeletal silhouettes of death and decay.

"There it is!", Nephethys called out to us, quite oblivious to the fact that the rest of us had already spotted it.

"Careful now", Shthelith admonished with his index finger. "Ye do not want to fall victim to the lurking adversity".

He explained to us that the Undead King wasn't called as such for nothing and, although he had never been there himself, the Decaying Woods retained a high probability of being the home to a few dozen undead as well.

Out of curiosity, still walking towards the opening in the wall of roots and thorns, I asked Shthelith about the nature and race of the undead that might encroach upon us.

"Tell me, Shthelith, who lived here once? Was it blood elves like you?".

"Ther once dwelt a race of humans if my memory doth abandon me not. The King is not of elven blood and never was."

Humans! Unbelievable. All that time, I thought the Aímamer were the only ones hardy enough to survive in such a world. But then I distinctly remembered him telling me something about a different time where this realm was, supposedly, habitable. Perhaps, I mused quietly, this forlorn race of humans, whoever they might have been, was not cursed after all. Maybe the entire world around them was doomed to rot instead, dragging this civilisation down with it. After all, I had thus far encountered no evidence of there ever not having been hardships, so this struck me as rather odd.

On the other hand, if he spoke the truth, how could he know, yes indeed,  _ remember _ this time period? I know elves live exceedingly long lives, but whenever this time was, it must have been thousands of years ago. 

In our current situation, for the time being, I opted to focus my mind on the task at hand notwithstanding the strangeness of his memory.

There soon lay before us a clearing amongst spiky shrubs and uninviting bushes. Inspecting them, I noted to myself that the curse that had befallen this region must have been the most terrible thing of its time. The presumably once green branches were sickly warped, elongated, curling in on themselves in a manner similar to dying and decomposing plants but incredibly tough in their rottenness. Although all of the bitterly twisted shrubbery appeared rather dry and easily flammable as a result, walking in betwixt them to gain entry into the woods proper revealed that they were quite durable as was evidenced by my foolishness of trying to step through one of the bushes in my path only to stumble, fall and ricochet off of it, groaning in pain as I was brought to the ground with a few bruises. 

"Turns out even nature herself is irreconcilable in this place" I cursed before I lifted myself onto my own two feet again.

"I implored thee to exercise caution!" Shthelith remarked, scolding me for my carelessness. His voice echoed through the armies of dead trees. The three of us stopped to listen and involuntarily scanned the area to suddenly feel intimidated by our surroundings. 

The great, foreign growth of wood and bark stood tall, their crowns blotting out the sky. The further we peered, the darker it got while above us the branches loomed like the boney fingers of a lich, waiting to devour our souls, lending credit to the oppression with which the flora, corrupted as it was, had overtaken most of the landscape. 

The shadows that were cast ran across the ground like veins of pure darkness that led to a black, foetid heart. This place was accursed - and there was no denying it.

Slowly, carefully, we trod the path deeper into the forest. A few dried remnants of what at some point had surely been flowers lined the road here and there. Adding to the generally uncomfortable atmosphere was that we heard naught but our own footsteps as our boots pushed away the dirt to form tiny dust clouds that persisted in the air for the lack of wind.

However, all of a sudden, Shthelith motioned for us to stop.

"Methinks there happen'd a noise", he whispered. 

"I hear it, too", Nephethys noddingly confirmed. Only I appeared to be deaf in that instance. "Don't you hear it, Thorus?". 

"Hear what?". Shthelith interrupted. "The tree bark. It creaketh quite noisily, ever more intense by the second. This should not be."

Shthelith reminded us that this forest is supposed to be completely devoid of life. Even if living carcasses were rumoured to inhabit this place, such entities tend to lie in stillness rather than roam about. And they certainly would not produce a sound reminiscent of creaking wood. Together with the apparent absence of wind, any sound apart from our own should have been impossible. 

A cold shudder permeated my very fabric, being even more at unease than previously. Whereas before I would fear the uncanny stillness, now I wondered what might be hiding amidst the tyranny of putrescent wood.

The further we went, the louder it became, until we almost stood right next to the source of the sound. The three of us snuck past some obstructive foliage to reveal what still dwelt here, capable of producing any audible noises at all. Only, it seemed as if the tree itself emitted the confusing tones.

We gently approached it. I stretched out my hand to touch it's slightly moving bark, caressing the rough surface of its protective shell. Without being forewarned, the tree went silent. The soft vibrations that its movement caused ceased.

Nephethys already inhaled to probably berate me for breaking something but before she could formulate even a single word, her mouth remained agape in complete shock at the vista that unfurled before her eyes.

She only managed to motion me to look up. When I did, I understood her sudden taciturnity.

Several worn nooses were attached to the dry branches of the tree top. All of these nooses were occupied by rotting corpses that hung down from each of them. 

I watched as the crown descended unter a raucous rustling and the wheezes of the undead whose slumber we appear to have disturbed.

I stood directly next to the tree as the mass of bodies violently collided with the floor, causing unholy groans and audibly broken bones, yet missing me entirely for my proximity to its source but prompting Shthelith and Nephethys to jump to either side in order to avoid getting hit. 

Whatever it was these things could do, none of us wanted to find out.

As the tree stood erect once again, and the bewildered eyes of my companions reflected the disturbing scenery, it shook its crown with vigour for several, screaming undead to tumble downward.

The mortifying wails seemed to 'alert' other trees of its ilk all over the area and it became unmistakably apparent that these twisted mutations were abundant in numbers.

The first few bodies hit the floor with the visceral sounds of sickening gurgles and crushed flesh. We realized that the stumbling husks of what once were men outnumbered us greatly so that even our combined combat prowess would not suffice to put so much as a dent into their forces.

Soon thereafter, the entire forest was alive with gasping, gurgling and screaming while the trees sang their infernal tune that foretold incredible disaster should we not be moving soon.

We needed to get away - and fast. A single thought, transmitted between us without words at the unfolding catastrophe, lit the fuse for us to begin running for our lives in unison.

We couldn't afford to back away for yet more terrible, floral nightmares would await us if we were to turn back. The only direction was forward. We dashed forth, hearts pumping, adrenaline surging, to leave the moving corpses in the dust of our trail. Ever deeper, the light began to gradually fade as the whirling branches, alive with lethal misintent, attempted to get a hold of us or whip us to shreds. 

We didn't peek behind us but I distinctly heard how the trees  _ hurled _ the screeching bodies in our direction, only to crash into the corruption-soaked floor. Rotting carcasses would fly by in front of us as the other towering trees threw them our way. It was utter chaos.

We went deeper still, after a time, passing by and dodging innumerable undead on the way, as we noticed the vile growths decreasing in frequency and the disgusting noises to become quieter.

Yet further, darkness claimed its throne as all we saw were silhouettes of portentous implication against the tenebrous backdrop of the copse. Here, light could not enter, and we once again found ourselves in shadow, fleeing from a force we could not control. We soon lost our way. Lacking any point of reference, I was unable to reliably say just where we were situated - or how far we had been straying off the beaten path.

With the way back unclear and overrun by undeath we could only move further into the brooding darkness ahead.

When all was silent again, Nephethys conjured up an orb of light to reveal our path. And by this light was it that we made a discovery, our next destination for a lack of alternatives. Forwhy amidst the decaying shrubs there lay a settlement, forgotten, forsaken, dead.


	2. The Forlorn Castle

III

The view was both a relief and a grave concern. "There is a good chance this place is infested with the undead scourge as well", I cautiously stated as I examined the grove before us.

"Thine assumption may be correct", Shthelith chimed in, hand on his exsanguinator that hung loosely from his belt. "We must exert utmost circumspection", he pointed out with his finger that was prone to point at many things as of recently. Nephethys once again stayed silent and only acknowledged our commentary as we slowly approached the hidden habitat.

An entire area must have been deforested. The small, empty village we laid our eyes upon occupied a spot wherein were still visible the remnants of many tree stumps. 

All of the huts were built from wood and most of them were overgrown with moss, the hardiest of plants that apparently even survived a deathly curse in relatively intact condition. Others were in serious disrepair, still more 'fused' with the ground or some nearby vegetation. 

Taking in the atmosphere of this eerie place we were taken aback when we discovered remains of houses even among the great number of trees that surrounded the grove, indicating that it used to be many times larger than what our group got to witness. It made for singular implications that fully grown, great trees would tower above the moist earth where houses used to stand, how they got elevated over the centuries to evoke the impression that nature herself had impaled the man made structures.

It truly made me wonder just what happened here but alas, we lacked the time for proper historical examination. 

"So it is true…", Shthelith mumbled to himself. "The undead settlement lieth here after all. Shthelith hath heard only rumours pertaining to its existence. But to see it with my own eyes…". He pondered for a moment, rubbing his chin in thought before he would quite joyfully proclaim: "We are on the right path. This here village doth stand circumjacent to the burg we seek.".

As relieved as I was for being on the right path, this revelation also brought with it a certain anxiety, was the thicket surrounding the grove nearly opaque with dense plant life, however dead it may be. It permitted any, possibly predatory, life form at all to retain perfect concealment. Indeed, if yet more unliving things dwelt around the clearing we stood in, we may not get around fighting at least a few of them.

As it was, Nephethys, Shthelith and I settled to stall not and proceed, however unsure of our success we may have been.

"There is no telling of what might hide its presence within these old trees", Nephethys chimed in, spelling out what I've been thinking. Her resolve was more resolute, though. "Are you two up for the task?", she followed up with a devious smile, no doubt relishing in the idea of bloodshed. 

Shthelith and I nodded, uncertain as to the exact meaning of Nephethys' gesture, whereafter we made our way into the thicket, out of the peaceful grove, and unto woe and misfortune. 

The air itself turned against us as we passed by the broken dwellings to delve into the evil foliage. A prevalent mist forced us to inhale a foetid stench ripe with decomposition. It was incredibly damp, not dissimilar to the inside of a shredmound, and my skin felt mouldy from the continued exposure to this utterly heinous gas that has proclaimed itself lord where clean, clear air used to reign. 

The three of us had no choice to cover the lower part of our faces with some cloth to shield our nostrils from the befouling influence. 

All too soon, my garb became moist while my boots began to sink into the ever more hydrated ground that was just as rotted as everything else.

Several cumbersome steps through sticky, putrescent mud and a few fits of coughing up the liquefied compost that appeared to put down roots into our lungs later, we arrived at a small hut, barely recognizable as such, for it was almost completely fused with the surrounding nature.

It had been largely assimilated by the web of roots, branches and bushes that would prohibit us from progressing further unless we were to enter this mushy looking building in front of us.

The wood that constituted the dwelling gave off a curious, vile steam and was sickeningly soft to the touch so that my hand print embedded itself into the surface, leaking a thick fluid that covered my palm and nails. I was sure that we could easily chip away at its walls, given enough time. And a spoon.

The disgusted frowns of my companions spoke volumes about their olfactory disposition towards the malodorous conditions. Their efforts to avoid the nigh fungal composition of the house amused me slightly, notwithstanding my own aversion to it.

We went inside to find that, stunningly, most of the furniture was intact, overgrown as it was, but not nearly as absorbed as the exterior.

I strained my eyes in the damp darkness in my struggle to make out the shapes of the furnishings. Moving across the room proved to be quite difficult for clearing away the vines that got entangled in my hair gave me some trouble in addition to my feet that were prone to sink deeper with each step I took.

When my vision had properly adjusted to the murk that the area seemed to be soaked with, I could finally behold the cubic room for what it was. Majorly rotted walls and ceiling were the most immediately noticeable features, next to a round table and two small chairs, all of which coalesced with the soft floor. Atop the table there were visible two piles of nondescript ooze that, presumably, used to be edible judging from their positioning. Further in the back, past the green-greyish strands of bio matter that leisurely hung down from above us to frequently intrude upon my coiffure, I espied what looked like a door.  _ Hopefully to the outside _ , I thought.

I could barely breathe in enough air to speak as my tongue got defiled with the all-engulfing vapours, in an effort to point out the possible means of egress, when my ears picked up on a noise so unlike the remainder of the hitherto experienced soundscape that I had the stale rot linger in my mouth, involuntarily so, to stop and listen.

A lurching sound emanated from the shadows to our left, prompting Nephethys and Shthelith to follow my example. I perused the prehensile gloom over yond fastidiously. I was so concentrated that the ensuing wrinkles on my forehead started to burn formidably. 

I could make out a faint outline as it moved there. Anxiety began to take its place where curiosity had afore been.

Nephethys threw me a doubtful, teasing look with a benevolent grin that shewed her white teeth and red tongue. She turned and wandered towards the figure barring hesitation. I knew that she had been waiting.

Hungrily, prowling about, preying on it, she strode with divine elegance. A glittering, crimson lustre playfully wrapped itself around her hand to shed light on the poor undead who would writhe in mid-air as it hung from a noose like the others had before.

A sorry creature, naked, falling apart, gasping for air, only a few strands of hair on its head. Who knows how long it had hung there? I pitied the thing in its immortal imprisonment, unable to escape this nightmare. 

The meaty atrocity moved for a couple more seconds before a pike of bright blood, coagulated to the point of hardening into a sharp spear, shot out of Nephethys' glowing palm to impale its heart and melt a moment later.

Perhaps it was mercy that she enforced on the thing as it struggled and toiled perpetually before voicing a sigh of relief with its dying breath.

I realized that the Dunmer sought to protect me from harm. My squeamishness was irredeemable no doubt. Yet, I believed that these living corpses posed no threat on their own. If anything, they were begging for release.

With radiant eyes, Nephethys returned to my side, smiling warmly at me where there previously had been a greedy thirst for murder. In the end, she cared about my safety and made sure that I noticed. A soft pat on my head, a gentle caress of my chin. That was enough to blow away my worries for a moment. A gesture of kindness that brought new hope to my troubled heart.

I didn't notice until after her act of questionable heroism that my mouth felt incredibly viscous from the inside. I opened it and the fumes I held seemed to have somehow merged with the saliva to form a thick, foul clump of steaming slop that I made exit my body as quickly as I could. 

The taste would linger, however. A sensation that felt as if it was never intended to be tasted, an indescribable cesspool of death would persist and churn betwixt my teeth for a few hours. All food I would consume was ruined.

After the unfortunate thing breathed its last, we resolved to open the door in the back of the room, eager to flee from the vapours that sullied our bodies with every second of exposure.

IV

The incredibly feeble, wooden door fell apart as Shthelith placed his hand on the knob. Slowly, it would collapse in on itself under disturbing smacking of the wood that had become a sponge for pestilence. It revealed a panorama of utmost despair shewing a forlorn people and I was struck by the impression that the three of us were in no immediate danger at all. For there were no wild hordes of the unliving to prey on our flesh.

Instead we were greeted with sorrow.

Before us stood many an overgrown house around a central path that led to the fort that we were after. 

But what made us stop dead in our tracks was not the amount of habitats that surrounded the fortress, nor was it the air of death that so oppressively hung over our heads.

We encountered throngs of live corpses, ravenous from centuries of famine and neglect. Most of those that were in our way appeared to be partly melded with the moulding ground of the forest. None of them could leave their spot as they all clawed hungrily at the sky under pitiable moans.

Their bodies were seemingly drained of all water and most flesh which resulted in an exceptionally famished look, even for the undead.

Their warped, almost concave, likenesses told of limitless agony while they helplessly flailed about to do anything at all.

Our feet pushed up the murky water from within the sick earth, taking a few steps forward, past the creatures, on our way to the castle. 

Their white, hazy eyes followed our every move, collapsed and partly dissolved pupils scanning us as the army of hairless, and in some cases skinless, heads turned our way.

The tugging at my legs from the diseased digits that beckoned me to stay and keep them company in their ceaseless torment unnerved me greatly, for I pictured myself in their place. My gut revolted at this cogitation, even more so as I gazed back towards the house we've just emerged from to find the hanging corpse in its usual spot, once again struggling for air. The same being that I could have sworn Nephethys killed just a moment ago.

And I realised that none of us could help these lost souls, damned as they were to keep on toiling forever. 

I shook my head, my lips involuntarily made a frown. Mucus filled up my nose and ran down my face to be loosened by my quivering jaw while the lump in my throat grew in size. It was tyrannizing. I struggled to breathe myself now, and the idea of doom in my head worsened the more my understanding of this world deepened. But I still could not fathom just how it would be to endure this for as long as they have. And I didn't want to.

Treading along the nearby homes of the lost, we collectively gulped when we witnessed more of them writhing in their beds holding them captive. They tried to leave their houses. On the floorboards they would crawl, ultimately too weak to move more than a few millimeters at a time. And much too weak to open their doors - that is, if they even made it that far. The unified groaning and troubled wheezing drowned out all other sounds.

We kept going, but not without difficulty. I personally found it especially hard to avert my eyes from all the torment around me.

Crushed, dead flowers gathered beneath our soles and soon, I could breathe more clearly again. I took my first, deep current of air through my freed nostrils when Shthelith held up his hand.

"Strain your ears", he commanded, "I hear something. A voice. Somewhere".

Nephethys and I halted and listened. A furtive whisper, emanating from one of the living corpses that lay flat on its stomach in front of us, its back overtaken by oozing greenery, its limbs moving gently from side to side. Completely devoid of strength, as if the simple act of speaking was enough to wear out the poor thing, it voiced a plight to us.

"Please, help us…". A diminishing cloud of breath was aspirated from its shaking jaw. "The King… he… the gift from the…". It coughed vigorously and expectorated an unknown substance before it was able to continue.

"He accepted the gift that . . . that doomed us. He was . . . too weak. Please, help us. Save . . . save our souls from . . .". Its bleak, lifeless eyes shed a tear. "From this nightmare. Aaaahhhh…". It exhaled and died. But I knew that it would return again to experience the invariable torture once more.

Meanwhile, Nephethys was touched by the poor creature's plea as she covered her mouth with her palm. "What is this gift he spoke of?", she asked and turned to Shthelith for answers. He shrugged and enunciated:

"Belike the Seal of Bone we seek. It is the only thing that cometh to mind". He twisted his head to gaze at the fort.

"Perhaps that seal turned these people into ghoulish undead?" I hypothesized, tapping my chin. I received an acknowledging nod from the blood elf. "It doth seem possible".

"Let's not lose any more time then", Nephethys' voice trembled. "We… we should get moving. Now". Her unease was undeniable. Seeing her like this filled me with sadness, but at the same time I got reassured that she still retained her empathy. I laid my arm around her shoulders and together, we went across the road, getting closer to our destination. 

V

The burg wasn't far off now. Shthelith, Nephethys and I could already see the stout stone walls that stood out proudly from the rest of the scenery. Even in its disrepair did it look quite opulent. Great, tall windows of stained glass, adorned with beautifully carved buttresses of ruined marble, a hint of golden embellishments on the finely chiselled statues that were fashioned to evoke the appearance of trees, their branches framing each and every window to run upwards like petrified veins to disembogue into a great many stone flowers sculptured upon the terribly worn brickwork. 

Its pompous gate was left ajar to a small extent to permit ingress. The great doors bore a family crest on them, similar to the glowing tree décor found in various Ayleid ruins, hanging from their crowns apples of gold, all of it imprinted into the wood that appeared much sturdier than the huts that we came by moments ago.

We approached it and pulled at one of the doors with our combined strength to dislodge it from the ages old rust that had eaten itself into the hinges. I flinched once when a tiny splinter burrowed itself into my finger while we were at it, but steadily we kept tugging until the opening was great enough for us to fit through. 

Cautiously we entered a grand, albeit crumbling, foyer telling of lost grandeur seldom beheld in this world. My mirror image contemptibly glared at me through the reflective black marble floor.

For the first time ever since Nephethys and I had been stranded here, I got a proper look at myself.  _ Oh dear _ , I remember thinking,  _ How mangled I've become.  _

The wrinkles on my face had, over the time that I had spent there, turned into deep crevices. My overall complexion was slender and diseased with a sickness impossible to put into proper words that could convey the true extent of the externally perceptible raggedness I had contracted. 

My hair was interspersed with multiple sorts of filth, both of animate and inanimate nature, that would float downward to gather on my slim shoulders when a breeze would cause it to sway.

My eyes had sunken deep into my skull that housed an exhausted brain and I reckon I witnessed my irises having become bland of colour the longer my gaze would rest on the image of a man who appeared just about broken. The terribly unkempt beard concealed a familiar likeness that I was otherwise so used to. The skin had lost its lively glow. I had to remind myself that I stared at my own reflection.  _ This is me? _

I got lost in my own eyes, daydreaming about past events.  _ How did it come to this? _

Nephethys woke me from my delusions. She placed her hand onto mine. "Hey, are you alright?". She then cast her glance to the ground, then back at me. "I see", she said before caressing the hand she held. "Don't worry. As soon as we are out of this mess we'll take a nice bath together."

Her efforts to reassure me with a cheeky comment and snappy, inviting smile succeeded as I was once again reminded that there was something to live for after all. Past the terror and madness, however tired I was of all this.

I steadied myself and abandoned the corrupted figure in the floor to instead shift my focus onto the grand flight of stairs before us that we had yet to ascend.

From the centre of the foursquare foyer stretched a sullied, regal, blue carpet all the way from the bottom of the stairs to their respective tops, two in number for the upper half of them was split for the construct to assume a Y-shape.

Shthelith, however, seemed to be far more fascinated with what decorative masonry stood about. To either side and in the back of the windowless, lower compartment of the room there towered proudly the images of knights and clerics cast in stone.

In regular intervals they lined the walls and two particularly outstanding specimens had been placed to the left and right of the stairs that we wished to climb. 

"Exemplary craftsmanship", Shthelith enthused as he let his fingers run across the cold, rough surface of the knight in front of us, to the right of the ornate, stone railing that led upwards. 

"As if it liveth surreptitiously beneath that coating of rock".

In response, I was left no choice but to eye the intriguing statue more closely. It really did seem as if a previously alive knight had been petrified to accessorise the room, forwhy the paper thin cloak, intact even after supposed centuries, hung from the back of a grey armour that looked almost wearable. Just like I could take it off of the thing to don it myself. 

I could perhaps even take his sword if I were to dislodge its tip from the ground it has been driven into. Maybe I could move the hands, cast in durable gauntlets of stone, away from the blade's hilt and just.. take it.

My fascination quickly gave way for bewilderment as an unfamiliar voice droned through the hall.

"Who disturbs this accursed place?". The voice was deep and raspy and told of advanced age. However, I was incapable of locating its source as it appeared to come from every direction at once. "Thieves. Begone. Or die."

Perplexed, the three of us looked at each other with varying degrees of confusion spilling out of our faces. We couldn't just abandon our task. So at the behest of our own good, we each took a step forward to ascend the stone steps. To our misfortune, it proved to be our undoing as the voice's patience dwindled, giving a command to his servants. 

"Wardens. Do your duty. Protect the burg and expunge these vermin!".

Mere seconds thereafter, having already begun our ascent up the stairs, we got interrupted by the noise of chafed stone and trickling dust behind us. To our surprise and chagrin, we found that the two knight statues in front of the stairs were indeed guarding them. They pulled their swords out of the ground and advanced in our direction with heavy steps.

"We can take them", Nephethys confidently proclaimed with this crimson lustre dancing around her hands again. It was not long until the great guardians were in range, dragging their heavy feet to form cracks in the floor whenever they landed. 

Two blood lances struck the heads of the approaching golems, but to no avail. I witnessed a great stone hand take Nephethys by the face to hurl her across the room to the foot of the great entrance gate.

"Hemomancy doth not take effect on these constructs. We must resort to more physical means", Shthelith noted. He unsheathed his exsanguinator, I drew my gladius. I cursed myself for all the wasted iron balls way back when we still fought the horrors below the Imperial City. I really could have used the Cloudbreaker in this situation. 

The golem that had just thrown my favourite dunmer now jumped towards Nephethys and raised his gigantic blade. She still struggled to get up and appeared defenseless otherwise. The obtuse stone weapon, about the length of a normal person to accommodate for the great size of the moving statues, fell down from above, threatening to crush her under its weight alone.

In the last second, Nephethys raised her legs to deflect the assault using her bone blades. Her muscles would tremble under the extreme pressure of keeping her doom at bay, at least for the time being.

I lost no time and rushed to her as fast as I possibly could, sword in hand. With every beat of my heart, every step I hopped, I could observe her sweat running down her face and burn her eyes. When I was finally in range, I threw myself at the giant contraption and disrupted its movement. With a few bruises that were the result of the hard rock that just collided with my relatively soft flesh I fell to the floor. I turned my head to espy a preoccupied Shthelith fending off the other stone warden as best he could on his own.

The short moment of our enemy's temporary inadvertence due to my assault was enough time for Nephethys to unleash fury upon the thing. Bone blade in hand, she kicked and slashed at the stone, dancing around it in a whirlwind of destruction. 

Nephethys was clever indeed, as she focused her aggression on its sword arm, making it crumble and disarming it in the process.

In a fit of stupidity, for lack of a more adequate term as what I did was beyond risky, I reached for the giant, stone sword. With considerable trouble, I managed to hoist it and hold it up into the air. Thereafter I let it crash into the living statue and it shattered to pieces.

The debris lay scattered across the floor, a dust cloud telling of its former owner where once towered the stalwart golem. In the meantime, Shthelith was still busy fending off the other, rolling under its swings and strikes, stepping behind it for a quick stab before he was forced to evade again.

I slowly dragged the weapon over to him while Nephethys still recovered from the assault. The long notch in the floor told of its coming demise. My muscles burned like the fiery pits of Oblivion itself as I raised the blunt edge of the giant instrument one more time. I could withstand the searing pain only just. And in a moment of weakness, my quivering arms and tremulous hands released their tension with a rush of overwhelming relief flowing through them. The blade came crashing down to split the petrified soldier in half and missed Shthelith by only a few centimetres.

A storm of powder and coarse pebbles released from it and doused the Aímamer in dry soot. My help came at the right moment. His hurried breathing and buildup of sweat foretold imminent, fatal fatigue.

"Thanks to thy bravery, I may yet live".

He took a deep, albeit somewhat trembling bow. My upper extremities were shaking as well from the most recent combat and Nephethys stumbled towards us, her legs unmistakably strained past their limits.

"It surely is difficult holding off an entire ship's worth of weight with only half your muscles", she remarked. 

For a brief moment I considered dragging that stone sword around just in case I would need to fight one of those golems again. I was indeed rather invigorated due to my victory, notwithstanding the extreme conditions I subjected myself to. For once, it felt good to be the saviour.

Without further ado, worrying about all the other decorative statues and whether or not they could spring to life at any moment, we finally climbed up the Y-shaped stairs in a much quicker pace than originally intended. 

The steps flowed into elevated balconies that stretched all the way across the walls. Embedded within were ornate archways that led to different parts of the castle. The three of us were strangers to these halls and thus, didn't know where to go. However, we had three directions to choose from.

"Can't there just be one way for once?", an annoyed Nephethys complained with her arms waving about in an effort to reinforce her point.

"Let us think", Shthelith proposed while he sought to put a halt to Nephethys' wild gesturing. "Inspect the portals that loometh. Where is it they doth lead to?".

We did as we were told and saw that the middle path would take us onto a roofed bridge with a closed gate visible in the distance. 

The way to our left led to what I assumed to be a dining hall for the presence of a long table and an abundance of chairs. 

To our right, then, lay a chamber that I could from the distance identify to hold at least a few bookshelves. 

We pondered on where to go but in the end, decided to examine what I took to be a library first so we might find potential leads on which road to take going forward.

"Belike thou wilt find a scrapping of this burg's bygone history", Shthelith suggested.

Our steps reverberated off the walls of the mostly empty foyer as we decided to step through the aperture to the right to enter the room of long lost knowledge. A little dust fell down onto us from within the cracks in the arch. Our loud steps gave way to a wooden creaking as the floor changed its type.

All of the brickwork we've had the chance to familiarize ourselves with so far had now been concealed by innumerable, tall bookshelves that lined the entire, outermost perimeter of the large study. Several tables alongside a number of small stools filled the otherwise vacant space and a hint of burnt wax hung in the air. 

Several cobwebs had gathered around the heaps of volumes that stood neatly arranged inside the shelves and most of them looked just as if I could have shattered them from mental thought alone.

Such sticky filth that enveloped the books I also observed in the corners of the furniture and the room itself.

"What wisdom might be contained here?", Nephethys wondered. Clearly, the unique nature of this world comes to mind, inspiring curiosity of unparalleled intensity in her and myself as well. However, when I casually tried to grab oneiof the books from the shelves, it would dissolve into a fine powder on touch, erasing whatever knowledge it might have held.

I earned some scolding looks from my companions until they, too, had melting papers run in betwixt their fingers. Evidently, it was absolutely no use to try and open them from their confines. Yet, I espied one, opened set of parchments sitting on one of the nearby tables.

It shone invitingly in the warm light of a candle that must have been lit quite recently, so I inferred that whomever this castle belonged to, they had to have been immersed in study only moments afore we claimed ingress to their abode.

From afar, I could not fathom its contents, prompting me to inch closer for a more elaborate look. I exercised utmost caution due to the fragility of the other, nearby tomes. I needed to prevent ruin to befall the only lead I had.

Wary as to not conjure up any unnecessary wind that could have caused the old papers to get caught in the breeze, I crept over to the table.

Nephethys and Shthelith were busy probing the shelves to find out which of the books had held fast against the test of time whereas I fastidiously examined the two eldritch pages that unravelled before me.

Eyeing them both up and down, at first I was just as clueless thereafter as I had been afore. The little excerpt I was permitted to view and brood over offered a deeper look into the world around me. 

An assortment of magical seals with heretofore unwitnessed glyphs, supported by illegible text written in a foreign alphabet that even my best efforts at deciphering failed at shedding at least some light on its meaning.

Make no mistake. I had seen various, different scripts from all over Tamriel before. I taught myself how to decode Dwemeris, how to read Altmeris, yes, even how to properly decipher and pronounce Dovahzul, Daedric or Ayleidis. But still, these texts were unlike anything I hitherto had the opportunity to peruse.

But there was yet hope. A tiny detail in the script. An almost negligible circle among the many circular drawings on these pages. Notwithstanding the obvious similarities to all the others being plentiful, it stood out like the moon would amongst a sea of stars that drifted above Tamriel. The very sky I hungered after as I reminisced on how it looked. And I wondered if I were to ever see it again. 

It was a perfect circle drawn right in the centre of the second page. With precision were arranged around it a host of alien, magical symbols that had no place in the world that I hailed from. Inside of it there was an emblem, or perhaps a sigil or something similar. Three strokes, horizontally stacked on top of each other, on either side with an upside down V in the middle.

In the two upper corners of the page were two more, similarly embellished circles containing symbols that looked like drops from afar, albeit constructed of many different strokes of very fine lines. These were connected to the central seal by what I can only put into words as "veins" of ink that almost seemed to have grown naturally from circle to circle. Beneath it all a chunk of indecipherable text that I suspected to serve as a more thorough explanation of what was depicted. 

I could not read the text, neither could I interpret the symbols that were so carefully painted around the important sigils. 

But what I did see, however, was something of profound meaning to our task. Something that I needed no description for to understand what it was supposed to represent. 

For the innermost seal, as speculative as my hypothesis may appear to you now, seemed to form the crude likeness of a ribcage.


	3. The Horror Beyond

VI

I turned around, ready to tell of my newfound revelation pertaining to the strange pages, only to find that most of the volumes that had been present fell to dust as Shthelith's relentless trying had transformed the shelves into small deserts of book powder. Nephethys had aided him of course and so, an entire library's worth of knowledge disappeared. Only a handful of books would remain. But they soon disintegrated as well when we tried to open them up. The only thing that remained intact was what looked like a small map of the area.

None of the squares or rectangles drawn on it sported any description. Although, judging from the general layout as it was depicted, the three of us must have been to the room on the right that came after the first square that I deduced to have been representing the foyer due to its conspicuous placement of the recognizable Y-shaped stairs.

The map told us also the location of the other rooms we had spied earlier, but also revealed how intricately hidden the various entrances to secret compartments of the burg were.

The leftmost square on the drawing I assumed to be what I proclaimed was a dining hall. Following this logic, there was drawn a rectangle perpendicular to the foyer representing the roofed bridge, thereafter came a set of more angular shapes, five in total of which their placement in conjunction with the castle's outside gave away that at least three of them must be the spires that were visible from afar, in between the branches and leaves of the forest. At the end of it sat one, huge hall. Perhaps a throne room?

But there were other, more curious markings scrawled upon the fragile paper that had gone soft with age. There was a circle drawn in the corners of both the library and the dining hall that at first glance evoked the appearance of a snail's house.

Directly attached to these were rectangles drawn with darker hues. By way of keen observation I believed then that the circles were meant to depict spiral staircases. The darker rectangles, on the other hand, had to have been subterranean chambers. This was further reinforced by the idea that I could not fathom how these rooms, especially this large in size, could have been visible from the fort's exterior if above ground.

"A cellar, perhaps a dungeon of some kind?", Nephethys' inquisitive voice was underlined by a stern expression as I laid my theories bare. I was wholly convinced: this was the castle's layout.

"I believe so, yes", I replied with a nod, encircling the shadowed shape closest to our assumed position.

"What is this, then?". Nephethys pointed at a darkened area that I had previously taken for a decorative frame to emphasize the importance of the grand room. But as I perused the parchment more thoroughly, I noticed a tunnel that connected this queer, dark space to one of the watchtowers, far in the back.

"Either this is a narrow tunnel that runs around the great chamber or…", I suspended my thought to imagine the immense proportions we were dealing with. 

"Or it is a gargantuan, underground area."

The library we were situated in was quite big for a room of its ilk. Comparable in size to the ground floor of the average Cheydinhal house. However, the subterranean space in question was about ten times that order of magnitude if our estimates were correct. In other words, half a town could be placed down there - minus the roads, trees and wells, of course.

"Belike it is this burg's gaol down ther?", Shthelith stated. "Verily, methinks such a thing necessitateth a grand space as is portray'd", he then added.

I surveyed the quality of the paper to ascertain as to whether or not a certain robustness was a part of its features. I fondled the page and folded it whereafter I made it vanish inside my coat, sure it would not break.

"I'll take this with me in case some reference is needed later", I proclaimed before I proposed that we examine the corner to the far right of the room. After all, there should have been a staircase there, leading down. 

The three of us rummaged through yet more unstable volumes that quickly disintegrated. We had to shove a chair and table aside to reveal a trap door.

Cleverly concealed amidst the floorboards was an opening, shut tight by old, rusted hinges and an antique padlock. Shthelith's and my efforts to pull it open turned out to be in vain, as the hatch would not budge. Mockingly, it sat there, denying us ingress. Nephethys on the other hand, having been the strong, crafty Dunmer girl that she was, made use of her tools and stomped on both lock and door until the entire construct fell apart. It tumbled downward for about three seconds before a loud thud announced its arrival below.

Together, we set out to explore this castle until we would find the object of our search. Of that I already retained a sharp, visual idea. 

We descended the rungs that were more like crudely cut outcroppings embedded within a cave wall into the darkness beneath our feet. The trip didn't take particularly long, much like the Chapel of Sárka. But after my feet connected to the ground of that dank room I would immediately regret my decision. Plagued by mephitic vapours were we, struggling to keep our heartburn and overall nausea in check and their consequences at bay.

The stench of incredibly old blood, dried, stale and rotting, in conjunction with an overall air of death made my saliva grow thick and heavy, viscous and sickly sweet. I chose to spit it out rather than trying gulp it down. My friends suffered through a similar experience as we felt our way forward the first few meters. Shthelith conjured an illuminating flame in front of him to guide our way.

"Wasn't there supposed to be a staircase?", Nephethys finally asked. I shrugged and explained to her that I had no idea of the symbols used in extradimensional cultures. Notwithstanding our unexpected lack of knowledge we pressed on and saw that we moved along an odorless corridor that made a left at its far end, possibly to lead into the main room that the three of us expected. 

The almost diseased cobblestone leaked greenish secretions from within its joints and the mossy fractals within its coarse surface. 

The light of the torch spell got reflected off a slippery-looking film that had developed on the wooden support beams embedded within the walls. Drops of the slightly oily substance accumulated in small pools beneath the rafters that hung above our heads.

I inadvertently slipped and almost fell to the slimy floor had it not been for the blood elf who prevented my fall. He stabilised my footing, grabbing around my chest and clinging to some of my cloth. 

Albeit of rotted appearance, this space seemed to have been infested by a different kind of rot that was quite hard to directly take note of. When we finally reached the proper entrance into the main room, we were educated about the nature of the omnipresent foulness and the peculiar rot that was present there.

"By the gods…", Nephethys aspirated. The sound of dripping water was clearly distinguishable - and all the more maddening for it. My feverish cough interrupted the morbid soundscape for a moment as I viewed the prodigious number of lined up, naked, bleeding bodies.

Buckets underneath their heads. The source of the infernal sound that rapturously writhed inside my brain. The countless, empty sockets glared at us in disbelief from the black void that surrounded them. Tongueless mouths formed voiceless words. Tearless sobs converged with quiet groans.

The stench of blood was detestable. But why was it collected in this manner? And whence came it from? The inhabitants of the nearby woods village appeared to be entirely bloodless. In this dank, moist chamber, the racial features of the unfortunate victims were too hard to determine. 

We slowly slithered in betwixt them and beheld barrels stacked on top of each other. I inferred that this must have been some form of wine cellar in the past. Now, only crimson water was stored here. Lacking any new revelations, the three of us turned to leave.

Distant steps prompted us to delay our exit somewhat. We chose to conceal ourselves behind the barrels to spy upon the intruder. The spell was extinguished, the blackness devoured all once again. Part of it got smothered under the oppressive radiance of a sick torch when a remarkably dressed man carrying it entered the room.

His attire told of nobility, if a bit sullied and worn. Silken gloves laid the fiery stick on the ground next to the entrance. It cast just enough light to make the first line of tortured souls visible. A finely sewn, green dress approached the hanging bodies. Sturdy boots came to a halt in front of one of the buckets. The figure then proceeded to cover its opening with a lid that slid in place and sealed the container with a reassuring  _ click _ . He bound a rope to the bucket and would hoist it along his back over his shoulders.

Only at that moment did I realise that the body he had taken the bucket from had not bled for a while. But notwithstanding its lack of blood, it still breathed and suffered inexplicably. 

Meanwhile, the sinister nobleman trod towards the torch, picked it up and left us in almost perfect darkness again. We stayed hidden for awhile longer, listening to the clamour the man produced as he went up the ladder with his heavy load in tow.

The noise died down and Nephethys, Shthelith and I made for the exit. Whoever this man was must have had some connexion to the Undead King. 

Intent on following him, we rushed, as silently as possible, towards the ladder and ascended. Alas, we came too late, the mysterious figure already out of sight. Everywhere we looked, we could not find him. He just disappeared. 

That strange noble must have passed by the library as evidenced by the trail of blood that was left. But the traces ebbed shortly after the library and his disappearance left us utterly clueless. We were left no choice but to explore further. To plumb the depths of a murky castle. 

The next, logical choice was the dining room to the left of the staircase but after a thorough investigation we found that it yielded nothing of value to us. We noticed also that the map I had obtained seemed to be at least partly false. According to it, there should have been a spiral staircase or a ladder in that room. It was missing entirely. But I was certain there were other means of accessing the underground chamber that was depicted on the paper I held.

The central road to and across the bridge remained as the last, possible path that we hadn't explored yet. We were surprised to find that the door to it was unlocked.

The soft creaking of old wood and rusted hinges accompanied it as it swung open.

As we went over that bridge, we found that it had gotten dark. Night must have fallen, for we saw only dark skies illuminated by a moonless light that made our artificial torch obsolete.

Truly, the details of the surrounding landscape were entirely obscured. In betwixt the great pillars that sustained its roof of stone I saw only empty space and a metal railing to prevent any curious souls from falling into the woods below. 

But there was something strange about it as we crossed the bridge. It took a while before I noticed it. Finally, I discovered to my horror that, looking down, there weren't actually any woods for someone to fall into.

Only a gaping void that threatened to consume us. A cold, lingering blackness. The same kind of blackness, in fact, as the broken rose window of the Chapel of Sárka had held.

"There should be trees down there!". Nephethys nervously cried out. "Where, by Oblivion, are we?!". Her eyes bulged just enough so that they seemed uncannily big as she said this. Observant as I was, I noticed the increasing pulsing her tissue in between her collar bones was displaying. She attempted to hide it, but having stepped into a place so unlike the world of Nirn that we know so well frightened her on a much more profound level than was readily apparent at first glance.

"This… it cannot be. This void. Is it… is  _ this _ the darkness?". An unmistakable snort of sticky mucus announced big, round tears to run off her cheeks only to freeze mid-fall.

"The Darkness of Sithis. Have I pledged my soul to a place like… like  _ this _ ? I don't want to be trapped in eternal nothingness!".

Her nervous breakdown was only seconds away, I felt it. The sheer hopelessness, laid bare in an uncaring void that did neither laugh at nor comfort the despairing Dunmer. 

Her kneecaps crashed against the floor as despondence claimed her. Moments later, she stood on her blades again, her face wet in the wake of sorrow. "What have I done to myself?".

"We will find a way to renounce your oath, I'm sure of it", I intervened, "But for now, we must focus on leaving the world we are trapped in. Take my hand, I will wipe away your fears". Her tears dried on my skin and a more determined, albeit subconsciously worried, expression returned to her face. 

"You're right. I can't afford to not escape before I concern myself with my Brotherhood past. But promise to help me in finding a way to escape the clutches of darkness as well."

I nodded. "Of course!", I said. If I had known that this would never come to pass, by the Divines, I don't know what I would have done.

"Blood elf! Where are we?".

She demanded answers. As did I. But Shthelith was only an inhabitant of that world, not its creator. Nevertheless, he provided an answer that was at least in part satisfying.

"Some gates, be they windows or doors, doth appear to be hex'd. Look not in bewilderment as I say, they are transform'd. Ye and I, we stepp'd into the dæmoniac domain of the abyss whence that glass dæmon came and where many a terror lieth".

The vista was as awesome as it was terrifying. If we were indeed transported to this darkest of places it would explain that feeling that suddenly rushed through my veins. It was… it  _ is  _ maddening to even try to think of a way in which to convey it. Like a rotting cold that emerged from my chest and covered the entirety of my body. Like a nauseous breeze, an emptiness that sought to fill itself with my soul.

The oscillatory discrepancies and inconveniences I had hitherto experienced in certain places paled in comparison to the repelling, uninviting air that would strain every fibre of my body, telling it to leave at the earliest opportunity. 

The only thought that continuously boiled within my brain was:  _ I should not be here. _

Should a place like this even exist? What  _ is  _ it? I lacked any answers to this question. However, I knew for certain that I had a strong desire to leave. Yet, so stunned was I, so captivated by the otherworldliness, that the simple act of moving myself forward proved fiendishly impossible. 

Off in the nebulous distance, a  _ thing  _ arrested my attention. Standing between the supporting pillars I looked. Far beyond where I stood, an amorphous cloud moved back and forth. Weird appendages and an overall shapeless appearance characterized the thing. It was partly transparent which permitted me to view a red, pulsating mass underneath its greyish exterior. The closer it floated, the less comprehensible it became. Before long, my mind reeled with countless eyes, mouths, tendrils and other, more foreign extremities. My vision gradually darkened. I received a push from behind and lost consciousness. 

VII

I regained my senses sitting with my back against a wall in another room. To either side towered my companions, inquisitively eyeing me up and down. My vision sharpened and I saw a grand hall before me.  _ This must be the big room beyond that infernal bridge I saw on the map _ , I reminisced briefly.

"You fainted", Nephethys explained in response to my thoroughly confused face. 

"Indeed! Thou hast mumbled of a tenebrous being mere seconds afore. What was it thou hast laid thine eyes upon?", Shthelith pried as if he already knew what I was going to reply. Notwithstanding my curious suspicion, I answered. 

"It was… formless, yet of clear outline. Its existence seemed to be ambiguous. As if the very premise of its presence was a topic for debate. A converging  _ something  _ of eyes and tendrils and other limbs and so… so…".

The harder I focused on this vague afterimage of a memory, the more it slipped from my mind what it was that I tried to describe. Finally, I resigned. "I can't remember".

"The denizens of the dankest reaches may be unfathomable. But thou didst glimpse it. Thy friend and I, we were oblivious. We could not see, yet thou could. Remarkable.". Shthelith looked on in amazement. 

Did I see something that was invisible to my companions? If so, why? And what did I see? Each new revelation held many more questions than answers. But I had no time for contemplation of the unknowable. We had to make haste if we were to ever leave this accursed world.

Ready hands helped me to my feet and when I stood again, I examined the hall that lay beyond the bridge. It was not unlike the foyer, albeit twice its size. A surprisingly well maintained carpet, defying the general air of antiquity, stretched from the entrance to the center, assumed a circular shape as it wound around a water fountain, and went on past it to stop right under the set of doors on the opposite side.

To my relief, the tall, stained glass windows shewed the outside world rather than a nameless abyss of outer spheres.

However, I was alarmed at the amount of knightly statues that lined the walls, filled the empty spaces in betwixt windows or guarded the carpet circumjacent to the fountain. I prayed to the Divines that none may come alive. I was unsure of success in battle against this many.

The hall was lit by two round chandeliers that hung from a flat ceiling. Aside from the, hopefully decorative, statues, the most notable features were three wooden doors, two of which led to the adjacent watch towers on the left and right. The remaining door led to the largest overground chamber of the entire structure if my map was any indication. I believed this to be the throne room.

Rather than dashing right for it, I instead spied a small opening in the floor to my left. Upon closer inspection, it revealed itself to be the missing, spiral staircase that was wrongly placed on the map. 

Again, there were many ways to go but we would collectively decide that venturing down the narrowly winding stairs would be best. Aside from the promise of treasure or other, more useful, items, according to the plan I held we were to encounter no other exits or entrances inside the underground space. And this circumstance made our task easier to bear, if only for the premise of not having to explore even more rooms.

We left the grand hall unattended for the moment, still hoping that the men and women of stone would not suddenly spring to life as their brethren did in the foyer. 

As we arrived in the chamber below, it was, again, quite dark at first. But in the oppressive murk I believed I saw the outline of an occupied torch sconce. Quick to ignite the flame, I tinged the area a yellowish orange as copious amounts of racks, locked, glass cases, chests and tables appeared to display weaponry of a most interesting sort.

Whereas Nirnic folk would normally resort to various, different metals, or perhaps the bones of particularly resilient beasts, the inhabitants of this world relied on stone as their element of choice instead. In spite of its brittle premise, from afar it was already clear that this was by no means an ordinary type of mineral. In fact, all of the carvings and architectural ornaments appeared to have been fashioned from that material. Including, of course, all of the arms and armour contained inside this chamber which I could with absolute certainty call an armoury. 

"Hemerite…", the blood elf mumbled. "All of these here arms are forg'd from a mineral call'd hemerite. 'tis quite the unique substance found within deep layers of the earth. It hath a dark crimson hue when observ'd in natural deposits but if bak'd and form'd by the hands of a capable blacksmith its shade goeth grey. Don't let thyself be cut by one of these," he pointed at a short sword, "as it consumeth thy blood upon incision to nurture itself. Whomever Smith hath long ago crafted these, they could have done unspeakable things to my kin".

Curious, I went ahead and carefully touched some of the armour pieces. Gently letting my palm get a feel for the surface of this foreign material. It was surprisingly smooth to the touch and incredibly lightweight. 

"Make no mistake, Thorus. The golems we fought were chiseled from actual stone, not hemerite. It doth explain the heaviness of their weapons".

Shthelith went on to say that this hemerite mineral had two outstanding properties. For one, it could drain its victim of blood by sucking it up like a sponge. Its second, unique property was it not beinh heavy at all despite being obviously a kind of stone and highly resistant to damage. Shthelith told me that is because of the way it is treated during the crafting process.

"The semi-fluid the mineral holdeth within doth escape while smithing, draining colour and weight".

I pondered long and hard but eventually made up my mind. Several minutes of fitting later and atop my hitherto tattered appearance there now lay remarkably durable stone plates.

In spite of its nature, I could move freely and easily. I wouldn't give up my gladius, but I added a small hemerite dagger to my tiny arsenal of weapons.

Finally cast in armour, I, along with my companions, made my way out of the armoury, up the spiralling steps and back into the hall. From there we planned to go straight ahead and confront the King. But as we emerged from beneath the earth and stone, we found that the poses and positions of all the statues were off.


	4. A Cryptic Message

VI

I felt the dirty moisture of an autumn rain upon my cheek. Ice cold drops that dislodged themselves from the wet film on my skin as I moved my head up into the air. I lay on the side, the floor of rough stone drenched in ground water and filthy puddles that must have been pushed up from underground. The mists of time obscured my memory and it took longer than usual until I was cured of the haze that I was in. I had trouble remembering just how I got there.

I scanned my surroundings to find that I appeared to be in a holding cell of sorts. My vision was a little blurry still, so I couldn't quite make out what was on the other side of the hall behind the metal bars that prohibited egress. Little by little, I began piecing together the last couple of moments prior to my awakening. 

Broad, obtuse sander marks on the ground before the cell door. Bloodstains on the metal bars. Scratch marks on the floor inside the cell. Loose fragments of the event that unfolded here came back to me. I got imprisoned shortly after leaving the armoury. They dragged me there. I tried fighting back. To no avail. But curiously, I remembered vague details of them having to  _ drag themselves _ in a way. They threw me into the cell. I attempted to get up quickly and rush to the door, clawing my way forward on the wet stone. I was too late. A strike to remove my hand from the bars sent me tumbling backwards. I looked at it and saw that I was bleeding. The armour it was clad in, shattered. Shards of tempered hemerite had burrowed themselves into my flesh and as the realisation came, so did the pain.

A burning sensation ate through the fingers. Blood was still leaking in long, half-coagulated threads and I witnessed some of the muscle blackening. Crimson leakage turned into black secretions that ran down my wrist as I held the afflicted hand over my head to view it at a different angle. Terrified, I began trembling, unsure what to do. Should I touch it? Try to staunch the flow with a piece of cloth?  _ Remove the limb? _

I screamed involuntarily. Panicked, I hyperventilated and stood up to shamble around in search of an exit. "Divines help me!", I cried out.

Just then, it was over.

The pain subsided, the flow of mucus ebbed. I was left with a hand of necrotic flesh and segmented plates of dark grey hemerite that coated the surface up to the wrist. The severe disfigurement continued in my palm that was stained with a circular indentation in the little stone segments. 

My lower arm was overgrown with this material and merged almost seamlessly with the remaining sleeve of hemerite armour. Had I become a malformed beast? An abomination fit only for being slaughtered? Was I part of this world now?

Afraid and angered I clenched my fist and hurled it towards the cell door. In the same moment, I saw Nephethys approaching my holding area and subsequently watched as the dislodged and bruised construct of bars and hinges flew past her and crashed into a nearby wall.

As the dust settled and the view cleared up, the silhouette of the Dunmer, clearly on a voyage to save me from my doom, gazed bewilderedly through the cloud of pulverised stone.

"Did you just…  _ you _ ? Did  _ you  _ just throw a  _ door  _ in my general direction?".

I apologized deeply. "I didn't see you coming, I had no intention to-". She cut me off. "How did you  _ do  _ that?".

Well, I didn't know. I told her of my most recently contracted affliction and how it warped my left hand into a hideous mutation of foul meat and grey stone. I hypothesised that my newly acquired, physical developments must have stood in direct connexion to the altered properties inflicted to me by merging flesh and hemerite. 

"I suppose you and I have more in common now", I mused, jokingly. Nephethys was still stunned by my bodily anomaly and sought to examine it later in more detail. "Firstly, however", she proclaimed, "we must locate the blood elf. We owe it to him to retrieve him from his prison". I agreed. He helped us immeasurably in the past days as we traveled through the inhospitable lands. We didn't only owe it to him but also needed Shthelith to guide us.

Wielding new strength and power, we set out to look for our friend in need.

The layout of the place that we assumed to be a prison was maze-like and confusing. A dense concatenation of narrow corridors packed with half-rotten holding cells, decaying corpses and rows of cold metal that kept the dead company. A complex string of rooms and sudden twists and turns in the hallways added to our perturbation as we tried to make sense of the architecture surrounding us.

After a tiring walk through the prison we finally heard a noise that sounded vaguely like a person. 

We followed what we believed to be a voice, confident that it had to have been Shthelith. A quiet humming, accompanied by metallic clanking and light steps, echoed amidst the maze of bars and cells that Nephethys and I desperately tried to get through. At length, an opening revealed itself to us and the humming became louder, clearer. And foreign. 

My heart stopped for but a moment as I could clearly hear that the voice in question did not belong to our red eyed friend. Someone else was here with us. An inmate? A guard? Someone else was here with us. And I had a feeling that they knew we were, too.

My dread-driven sweat appeared to reveal my position as the noise of its drops hitting the stone floor let the voice go silent. A terrible anticipation grew to unbearable heights. My fingertips were burning with the increased blood flow and the expectation to get assaulted around every other corner. More torturous, still, was the fact that it just didn't happen.

The silence just kept on going. I was still on edge. I didn't trust anything in this realm. Neither did Nephethys. However, she took the rising suspense exceptionally well considering her usual troubles. 

With my lover in tow, it was virtually impossible to move forward without attracting some kind of attention. Turns out that sneaking with osseous blades for legs isn't all that quiet. Her Dark Brotherhood days were done, I thought. Even if she hadn't decided to renounce her oath in the face of the nothingness of the void that would await her soul. I hoped that it wasn't too late to spend the aetherial eternity with her.

We cautiously moved forward, ready for anything. And as we did, I fancied I heard an echo sometimes. Whenever Nephethys would tread upon the hard ground, it was as if some of her steps landed twice. A bone echo, if you will. 

I couldn't explain this phenomenon up until a few minutes later when one of the bone rattling occurred when we were standing still to reorient ourselves. A sound from an outside source! But what  _ was  _ it?

At length, we came to yet another opening that led us to a wider space than all the other corridors. A welcome change of pace after the labyrinthine, winding hallways upon hallways of metal bars, floors coated with blood that had dried long ago. Cells filled with skeletons or the remains thereof. Countless, small spaces to hold people captive at the barest, minimum space in order for them to lie down. Even more cells of half that size, forcing the captive to stand upright. I realised how lucky I was to have had a cell of big enough size for at least two men.

From what I could gather, there was no telling of how many people might have suffered critical exhaustion due to having to stand or kneel for days or even weeks at a time. In a way, this subterranean prison was the most cruel of its ilk I had ever laid eyes upon. Built to house probably over two hundred inmates in the least tolerable conditions. Like cattle, waiting to be slaughtered. 

Just then I saw a set of cells occupied by the rotting corpses of quadrupedal deformities. Were they not designed for men but for beasts? 

I was pulled out of my daydreams by a peculiar noise the likes of which were all too similar to the familiar tapping of Nephethys' legs. But somehow it sounded hollow and alienated to a degree from what I was accustomed to. As if two empty skulls crashed together, in the distance. 

And out of the forest of steel that stretched its unyielding branches from floor to ceiling emerged the figure that I identified as being the source of these strange sounds. 

A man in a robe, a shattered skull, sewn together with metal wiring, perching atop his own as both crown and mask. A stained apron fashioned from leather hid a belt that contained tools and instruments of sinister purpose. From his right hip dangled the skulls I was hearing and I asked myself just for how long this madman stalked us. Did he know where we were all along? Circling us like prey to his perverse hunger?

His toolkit made sense in the context of the location. Scissors of abnormal size, long knives and fiendishly extended saws. Thick needles. A cleaver. In many ways no more than a butcher. But for us.

The amalgamation of sounds produced by his attire was sickening. Every facet of it told a story more terrible than the next. The robe dragged itself on the ground for how heavy it was with the cold crimson of bygone victims. His red eyes clearly identified him as an Aímamer and yet he resided in the domain of a race that was, by all accounts, enemy to the blood elves? Was he a traitor or a captive? Or was there a time the races got along and only in the last hundred years did the conflict emerge?

He tossed an oversized saw like the most degenerate tribes of the Bosmer launched their tomahawks in the wilderness of depravity. He missed only just but I could tell that I shall never know his true identity for he wasn't fond of speaking. Just then the second saw came our way. Nephethys and I avoided the spinning blade before it burrowed itself into the metal bars of a nearby holding cell. A thing made for the singular purpose of tearing through bone, huge and particularly unwieldy in the hands of a layman. 

Nephethys jumped forward and I followed shortly after. I felt comfortable in my hemerite armour. Confident. Gladius in my right and dagger in my left, I was ready to battle this foe. 

Nephethys' assault got deflected by the blade of a large knife the robed figure produced from somewhere underneath his coat. Just how many weapons he carried I was uncertain. Meanwhile, I attempted an attack as his back was turned to me. With lightning reflexes he swirled around and disarmed my right hand. Distracted, he watched my sword fly. I seized this momentum and drove the hemerite dagger deep into his side.

A surge of vitality rushed through me as the dagger sucked up his blood and bestowed its life unto me. In the chaos I let go of its hilt and with it, my last weapon was stuck in his flesh. Even so, the executioner readied himself for black retribution. He removed the dagger from his body as it desperately tried to cling to his sticky, red blood, but failed, falling to the floor leaving a dark puddle. I could smell the sickly sweet iron emanating from his wound as it beckoned me. A sensation I've never felt before threatened to overpower my hapless self. 

I fought valiantly against the urge to… to what, exactly? My left hand throbbed, my brain steeped in primordial excitement commanded me to rush forth, to exsanguinate this fiend. Is this what being a vampire feels like? But I didn't intend to orally consume it. I just wanted to come into contact with his blood. I could barely react quick enough to narrowly avoid a knife that was coming for my face. During my efforts to defend myself, Nephethys recovered and attempted another attack.

She flung herself like a cartwheel across the room. A viable strategy for groups of less attentive targets, it proved to be foreseeable by our adversary who stepped to the side, swirled around me and pushed me into harm's way. Nephethys noticed that in her path of destruction now stood I and tried to stop. She was unsuccessful, however, and I saw furious swords of bone descend upon me. As the most natural gesture, I covered my face with my hands and prayed.

The robed figure watched us in amusement, having tricked us into annihilation. However, even I was utterly unprepared for my survival. A loud noise, the pressure of contact, shocked gasps. I witnessed the agile dark elf fly over me as her legs connected to my head. I inadvertently pushed her away with much force to avoid harm. In response, she was flung across the room and flew behind me. Like a cat, she landed on her fours without further injury, albeit stricken with surprise as much as I was. 

But there was not really time to wonder for the robed fiend came at us with his deadly instruments. So far the only things he had said were incoherent grunts and angry moans and never real words. And an angry moan it was that announced the next blade to cut through the air with a whirring noise. Out of options, I put trust in what had saved me a second prior and motioned forward to halt the knife. All the more shocked was I that the tip penetrated my hand and the hot blood was immediately consumed by the hemerite that had infested my arm. The wound closed and the weapon fell apart.

Admittedly, I half expected my plan to work. However, I had not predicted this outcome and neither had my enemy. Dazed and confused, he stared blankly into the dent that he made in my palm from behind his mask. 

"He… righ…! How hah uh buh oh awh wi-ih ee!"

With the greatest of difficulty, the man said these words that I could not understand. And yet, I had the feeling he sought to tell me something important. But his inability to properly articulate himself meant that I should remain puzzled.

From behind Nephethys approached quickly. The recognisable sound of her legs drew closer until, at last, she stood in front of the masked man who didn't even attempt to oppose us. Not any longer. He just looked at me and stood there. A fierce punch of Nephethys' fist shattered the skull he wore as a mask. The crimson-eyed elf stumbled backwards and lay on the floor. His eyes told of resignation. And indeed, his life was forfeit, for a swift kick split his head in two. And with a smile, the elf bled out.

"He stopped attacking so suddenly", I remarked as I rubbed my chin with my untainted hand. "What was he saying?"

"It doesn't matter", Nephethys intervened. "He is dead now. For all we know, he was the jailer and the key to our freedom. Maybe he tried to lure us into a false sense of security."

I acknowledged her statement and moved on, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was a message hidden in this brief but meaningful conversation. 

I collected my weapons from the nearby environment and sheathed the two blades into their scabbards. Thereafter, the two of us searched the body that lay dead on the floor. Sure enough, we found a ring of keys among his many possessions. He appeared to have been a curious character, even for aímeri standards. He held on to various bones, scraps of cloth and many a tool to dismember things. 

A more thorough inspection of his attire revealed that his apron was fashioned from human or elven skin. The pores were clearly visible. But the very last detail we noticed was in his split head. For therein we discovered a mouth without tongue. A voice, robbed of its most crucial muscle. 

I froze in contemplation for a moment. I tried to piece together his story. Why he was in this dungeon, as armed as he was but without tongue to speak. Why he stopped opposing me after he saw what I was capable of. I couldn't help but think that this torturer must have been a prisoner in there himself, in a way.

Nevertheless, we had to find our friend and as such, time for thorough thought was limited. We had to escape this dungeon. Thankfully, I retrieved the key ring. 

On this ring there was a staggering multitude of probable keys. It appeared as if every cell had its individual key instead of there being a master key as was common in Cyrodiilic jails. While I could see why one would design a dungeon with lots of cells this way, for this system was quite secure, it was exceptionally unwieldy. 

A key ring that could be used as a weapon for its many metal appendages and its imposing weight. To prevent all of those keys from forming a ring that would cover the entirety of the key ring itself, there were a few metal chains attached that had more keys dangling from them. The more I looked at it, the more it began to assume the appearance of a dream catcher. But I was sure that, with some ingenuity, one could fashion from it a metal whip.

Keys in hand, we explored further into the unplumbed depths of this castle. The dungeon was as big as it was confusing because all its corridors looked so similar to each other. Metal bars, cells of varying sizes and shapes to accommodate for the form of different living things. We wandered aimlessly, Nephethys and I, having lost our sense of direction. Just then, a moan somewhere. 

Nephethys and I came to a sort of crossroads within the underground structure. Looking right there lay situated the desired means of egress by in the shape of a stone arc and a flight of stairs that led upwards. To our left we found a few more cells. In the furthest, there sat a despondent blood elf waiting on his release. The two of us couldn't help but smile at our discovery.

"Shthelith!", the two of us cried out. "Shthelith! We've come to get you out of here!". In an instant, the ragged elf looked up at us with a familiar glow in his eyes. His will to go on had not yet ebbed - all the more reason to get him out of there. We needed strong minds after all.

This undertaking should prove much more time consuming than initially anticipated. The obscene amount of keys meant that we'd probably have to try each one. 

The fact that the exit was right behind us and in Shthelith's view didn't help. If anything it shewed us what we could not yet attain. Before long, I observed a system in the distribution of keys, however. To the main ring there were attached four chains that carried innumerable keys - presumably one for each cell. One chain corresponded to one row of cells in the dungeon which meant that  _ all  _ of those could be ruled out, leaving but the ones attached to the main ring.

As I was looking for the correct key to insert into the keyhole in the half rusted cell door that Shthelith was kept in, the three of us noticed noises and movement coming from a floor above.

"Perhaps the thrice-damned statuettes wand'reth thither whence our destination lieth", Shthelith remarked angrily. Seems even the hitherto so calm and collected Aímamer had his reserve broken bit by bit that time.

As the rumblings above our heads continued I had finally found the right key to open the door. Just then I heard the clap of skin on skin and Nephethys looked at me in a profound disappointment as she retracted her palm from her forehead.

"You realise you could have simply ripped that door from its hinges? Like you did with your own before I found you?".

Of course. I had strength now. I totally forgot that I would have been physically able to tear that door apart.

Nevertheless, no harm was done to the metal bars and as the keys on the key ring swung silently in front of the cell, my companions and I made our way to the exit and climbed the stairs towards the ghastly noises from above.

V

On the way up, Shthelith asked me about my new powers and how I acquired them. 

"The manner in which I received these powers were of only the most brutal and unpleasant nature, I assure you", I said. "It involved a mighty stone fist, a few metal bars and a crushed hand on my part". I went on to tell him that, to my understanding, the hemerite burrowed into my flesh, took root and became a permanent addition to my body's ecosystem. 

As I explained that it also became apparent that the hemerite - or the effect thereof -  _ spread _ very slowly across the surface of my skin. Like little veins of stone trying to mask their presence as an infection. 

The longer I stared at it the more it seemed as if that teeming mass of bloodthirsty rock that embedded itself into my fabric lived its very own life. A life full of concerns, worries and business to take care of. 

"An unprecedented merging of flesh and rock. Thou be careful, Thorus, lest it consumeth thee. Hemerite doth hunger for bodies such as thine. Strong, able and filled with exotic blood". 

Exotic blood? Upon inquiry the blood elf told me that exotic blood is what his folk calls the blood of extradimensional beings such as me or Nephethys. "Such delicacies a rarity be. Belike it an alliance with thee forgeth, for better or worse, so that it may indulge in thy blood, granting thee astonishing might in return. If thou'st the strength, thou wilt bend it to thy will".

The curious elf seemed to know more about what exactly it was that happened to me than he would let on. I couldn't force him to spew forth his knowledge, of course. Afore I was permitted to continue my onslaught of questions in regards to the matter, we reached a critical point in our travels - the door to the outside. We were close to the dungeon's exit and perhaps the mighty king who ruled these rotten lands. 

A small push was sufficient for the wooden construct to give way, to reveal to us the path we should be henceforth destined to traverse. The first beams of light made their way through the small fissure betwixt door and frame. The stairs behind us now clearly visible, had they before been wreathed in darkness, told the story of far too many prisoners of the kingdom. Innumerable indentations and scratches on the stone steps. Traces of dried skin, coagulated blood and leftovers of bones from the most terrible, abrasive burns had eaten into the edges.

We averted our sore eyes from the gruesome sight and instead looked ahead in hopes of finding solace in new revelations. We allowed the battered door to open fully as light flooded the room. The brightness was blinding at first, and only with difficulty could I make out any shapes. I squinted for a while. Then the eyes adjusted. And from where I stood a crimson trail was smudged about. I followed it with my eyes until I beheld in awe.

The throne. The King. And his child.


	5. Chapter V: Foul Betrayal

VI

Until the last, I had not known the tragedy that had befallen the kingdom that the three of us had trespassed upon. The reason behind all the rot and decay. I only knew that it stood in connexion to the seal of bone that Nephethys, Shthelith and I sought to acquire when we stepped into the woods, through the hamlet before the castle. And on our journey we saw many things, terrifying and unspeakable but none as bizarre as the sight that revealed itself before us in the throne room.

We had asked ourselves just what that infernal steward, if indeed that person served their duty as such, needed a bucket of drained blood for. Why he had gone through the trouble of carrying it up a ladder under the most arduous circumstances. And to our perturbation we found the answer.

Following our egress from the dungeons below, the three of us emerged from a side door of the ginormous throne room that was several times greater than its purpose required. To our right there was the heavy double door that led to the smaller room in between the throne room and the bridge that floated in the void. 

Along a blue carpet to the left we saw the two ornate thrones whereupon sat the undead king and his daughter next to him. Around them a vast space that was occupied by an array of various statues that stood against the walls. Carved pillars that assumed the likenesses of knights and guardians created a tangible distance between the tall windows that stopped only short of the high ceiling.

Many torn tapestries, cracked bricks and partly overgrown floor attested the decay of a palace that truly must have been luxurious during its time. But most of the embellishments and decorative features had dissolved, leaving only dust and stains on the carpet. Much like the village around the castle and the forest around the village, yes, even the hungering badlands around the forest, this place was in ruins.

Even so, the rotting royalty persisted and the only two remaining members of a once noble family remained in what time reduced to an oversized sarcophagus. 

To look at these two was to gaze at misfortune and dead dreams. The king sat on his throne, tired, pale, grizzled. An unkempt beard around dry lips under white, heavy eyes stared an empty stare at our appearance. He was alive still but barely breathing. And although I could tell that he noticed us, he seemed to ignore our presence. 

His daughter on the other hand appeared genuinely dead. Only on close inspection could I spot a minute breathing. She was a frail and shrivelled girl. Famished, thin, draped in a white tunic. Long, black hair kept most of her body hidden. But this was by no means our main point of focus.

Above the girl, from the ceiling and suspended by chains, there hung the half-dead corpses of four men. Upside down, with their hairless, teetering heads just above hers. From them, red streams of crimson connected the girl to them, flowing towards her. "Blood magic", Shthelith whispered quietly, acknowledging the queerness of seeing hemomancy around a people who would normally fight against it.

Then, an illusive figure stepped out of the shadows. We had not noticed someone concealing themselves amidst this bizarrery but recognised this man as the nobly dressed steward who carried the blood from the cellar to the surface earlier.

"Hither you went without knowing a thing of our fate, travelers", the figure spoke. "And yet, you possess the impertinence to disturb these sacred halls. Do you not see? The cure for our people is at hand! To deliver us from this pestilential curse."

He gestured towards the girl who, despite receiving this supposed cure, looked more dead than alive. 

"Through research and application of the kind of magic we used to despise, we brought her back from the brink of death."

"You mean she looked even worse?", Nephethys burst out, raising an eyebrow in surprise. 

_ "Silence!". _ The king raised his thundering voice. A feeble man in brittle armour that had lost its former glory rose from the throne. Embedded in his chest plate, a circular stone plate of all too familiar appearance. The seal of bone, there was no doubt about it.

"You do not have permission to speak about my daughter", his shaking voice boomed, "Not a filthy outworlder like you. You do not know the lengths my folk had to go to to find a cure for this accursed hex laid over our people! The torture we've endured, the measures we took. You know nothing of pain. But speak again, and I shall introduce you to it". 

He threatened an already furious Nephethys which was perhaps one of his worst choices in life, all things considered. 

_ "I know nothing of pain?" _ . Nephethys burst out in tears for but a moment before the freshly formed pearls of salty water evaporated on a skin burning with indescribable rage. Her dunmeri eyes began to glow red hot in the dim light of the opulent throne room. Her chest rose and fell, and rose and fell again, faster and faster until her clutched fists threatened to whiten her knuckles to the point of tearing her skin apart.

Quivering hands drew the blades that should decapitate the aged, squeamish King just a second later. He didn't even get to draw his stone sword before he began to crumble to dust like the ruins themselves, leaving not even blood on her blade. Only his armour remained and with it, the seal of bone. 

_ This was rather underwhelming, _ I quietly thought to myself. I've gotten used to real opposition whenever we pursued any particular goal. The scavengers in the wastes, the high priestess Sárka, the Stained Glass Dæmon. Even the lost blood elf in the dungeons put up more of a fight than this presumed king. And yet, I was painfully unaware of the fact that he wasn't really the greatest threat in the room. Nor were the statues he had prepared, indubitably, to assault us. But he didn't get to command them once more.

Even the steward, who appeared strong and capable, grew a terrified look on his face. He anticipated disaster and left the throne room as quickly as he was able to. The daughter, in her throne, remained seated, however.  _ How could she even get up and leave?  _ I thought.

In a flash, her eyelids creaked open, blistering, dried skin flakes flew everywhere. Remains from centuries of dehydration. White eyes lined with pulsating, red blood vessels stared at us in contempt. No pupils in irises from which we could have drawn any hint of her true emotions or intentions but her ferocious expression told us all we needed to know. "The seal, quick!", Nephethys commanded. I ran over to the kingly dust pile and retrieved the heavy stone coin from its cuirass. It clicked as I did and the world as I had known it ended.

It took a while for our eyes to process as a sudden flash of white clouded our view. Little by little the mist settled and the castle we stood in a moment ago had undergone drastic changes in the short period of time that we weren't permitted to see.

The majority of the walls and ceiling had crumbled away to reveal a jetty black sky, darker than the lead heavens we had become used to. Through gaping holes in the walls it was revealed that the castle itself appeared to float in total nothingness. As if some spell ripped it from our dimension into the next worst thing. Perhaps an elaborate hoax to fool us into submission by despair? However my gut feeling told me everything to understand that I was in a place that should not have existed. 

"Curses!", Nephethys shouted. "Are we in the Darkness again? I won't falter this time. We need to seek the gate and leave this place lest it consumes us!".

"Thou'rt correct", Shthelith chimed in. "Methinks the seal either upheld an illusion or created it. But such power…". The blood elf tried to explain our current state of affairs by inferring that the seal was somehow enchanted to either reveal the truth or hide it from us. To confuse "All ye who taketh the stone" and lead them to their inevitable doom. Either this or the source of the nightmare was the girl herself.

With all of this commotion going on between us we barely noticed, if at all, the cracking knuckles and falling dust that came from the daughter's throne. Steps of bare feet against cold stone echoed through our minds as we turned to find a pale, famished, naked woman of unfamiliar race standing before us. Her long, black hair covered a great deal of her unmentionables for its length grew past even the thighs. The dead yet seeing eyes stared at us with a hatred so pure that the staring, pupil- and iris-lacking eye by itself was enough to inspire fear in our hearts. There she stood, covered in the blood of the kingdom's people that she drank to stay alive. An abomination worthy of killing. 

VII

The fact that all of us were alive to leave the castle after what had happened in the throne room can be attested to both superior power of will and dumb luck. How had we survived the incursion of terror of such a phantastical scale? How were we still sane enough to continue with our journey? Had all of this even been real?

Even today I ask my quill and ink this same question for it is truly hard to believe. But I fear the more I remember the events, the more they solidify in my wobbly, unsteady mind and I have to accept their truth. And I have to accept many more truths that I've yet to come to terms with.

Indeed, it should come as no surprise that our little group had to battle itself out of that situation. However, this conflict was unique for two reasons. For one, before us stood a foe even the Imperial army would have struggled against. The other factor was that we did not have all the time in the world to kill this fiend as Nephethys quickly noticed that we didn't  _ fl _ oat in empty space - we were flung towards an even greater darkness that had by that time already consumed the horizon. There was no telling what would happen to us should we enter whatever that thing was so we made haste to assess the situation. 

Meanwhile, the girl herself began to levitate off the ground, her impossibly long hair growing even longer, braiding itself together, solidifying in thick strands of dark grey flesh. More and more of these tendrils emerged from her head, flailing about to reveal her punished, tortured body that  _ should be dead _ by all that I've learned about humanoid anatomy. 

Soon enough, her meager body weight was easily supported by her innumerable appendages of necrotic muscle that was yet strangely alive with a magic blacker than any found on Nirn. She rose several meters above our heads and looked down at us like the importless worms that we were.

The gangrenous tentacles shot forward like a wave of black water on the high seas at night to submerge us in pain and suffering. Nephethys was the first to cut herself free, disturbing the order in the flesh. Shthelith and I followed shortly after, climbing out of the rot around us. 

The ground quaked and up through the stone floor came the long, dead arms from her head. Debris threatened to graze our skin and suddenly I wasn't so sure of the bodily protection of my hemerite armour anymore. I concentrated on evading the black, meaty pillars that came from below and overlooked a tentacle that came for me in a sideways swiping motion. I got hit in my guts, appropriately compressed by the kinetic forces of the impact and flung about to crash into a nearby wall just short of a hole in said wall that would have left me falling into the abyss. 

The stone behind me crumbled and gave way to the gaping void that almost consumed me as I watched the evasion attempts of my fellows against this onslaught of darkness.

The battlefield, infested with a terrible scourge the three of us had severe trouble hurting at all. Shthelith tried to "tame" the wild appendages with his blood magic for he beforehand cleverly observed hemomancy having been used to sustain the girl's state of being. At the same time, a dunmeri whirlwind of rage plowed through the black ocean of undulating hair-flesh, spraying cut parts everywhere. The grey blood of the tendrils wasn't even visible on Nephethys' tender skin and with unparalleled elegance the dark elf danced her deadly dance of murder against all opposition. And yet, it was not enough.

Blood magic proved to be entirely ineffective against the things and Shthelith was quickly taught to keep his distance as he avoided swift swipes. Nephethys, on the other hand, fought well. Tirelessly she cut down wave after wave of this evil but it kept coming regardless.

The girl seemed to be unbothered by our feeble attempts at retaliation and callously struck each of us down, punishing us for our sins, for theft and murder. Each time we got up again to fight back but our stamina was limited and my breath began to run short after a while. I looked up at her, how concentrated she was to control the tentacles. But my tired body appeared to have caught her attention as I sat down in exhaustion while the raging flesh all around me oppressed my companions who still fought valiantly. 

Up from the chaos, a tendril then rose, its tip slowly approaching. I looked directly at it and even though the threat was unmistakable, I kept still. I stood under its spell. Then it touched my forehead. Very gently it set itself on it and I suddenly felt a deep and sharp pain that I cannot describe. It felt like dying. The loss of my own life as well as that of my loved ones combined, drifting forever in darkness. 

All of a sudden I saw my old house again. When before I stood on a hill to view it from afar, stood I now directly before the smouldering ruins of what death I had brought upon my family. None had remained. All of them charred to pieces of coal or skinless corpses. Yet, the cellar remained and my terrors emerged from it. Shadowy things from another realm to haunt my existence. The messengers of my guilt.

"I repent!", I remember myself crying, "I repent! I am being punished for my deeds and rightfully so", I said. "I beg your forgiveness!".

As I came to my knees I saw the world around me shatter, the dark silhouettes crumbling to dust. The house dissipated and I was in the warped throne room again, the severed end of a tentacle before me on the ground. I saw my own reflection in the puddle of oily blood. Next to me the face of Nephethys who saved me from this hallucinatory assault.

There was no time to exchange words of gratitude, for whatever it was my two friends had done during my spiritual absence angered the girl greatly. She let out a screech as we drifted ever closer towards the dark horizon. Her whipping appendages compromised the integrity of the throne room, the pure rage threatening to destroy the very ground we stood on. All over her pallid skin eyes had emerged that looked just like hers, glaring in all directions at once. 

A prolonged stay was impossible but the exit door was blocked by her and her unrelenting extremities. 

"You", her broken voice then announced. "I will take all of you defilers into the abyss with me."

With these words, she lifted as many of her arms as she could and let them crash down. Shthelith, Nephethys and I nearly got crushed but found ourselves stumbling instead from the shockwave.

"There, the door!", I then shouted. The King's daughter must have retracted those tendrils to add to her destructive ensemble. 

Once more the ceiling darkened with her pulsating tubes of flesh as they readied themselves to grind the stone under our feet. Her last act of revenge against us who so boldly murdered her father. Upon their descent we narrowly averted our deaths but I knew that one more test of durability like that would have the floor crumbling. 

Together, we carried ourselves towards the exit as the horror lifted her talons one last time.

"No! No! Murderers! Nooo!", she cried as we opened the door. In that moment, the ground beneath our feet shattered from the impact of a thousand muscular arms and the three of us made it past the threshold. I turned around and saw the grandiose throne room get devoured by the yawning blackness.

Thereafter we made our way back into our reality, past the infernal bridge with the Seal of Bone in hand and a feeling of victory in our hearts. But a certain emptiness did not betray a bitter aftertaste that accompanied our triumph.

VII

As we exited the castle that had held us prisoner for so long, we were met with a curious vista. There had afore been a rotting forest of twisted foliage, half-dead corpses squirming and foul mists melting the air we breathed. However, upon our return from the damned burg we viewed a lush copse populated by hitherto unseen flora. 

Juicy, green grass grew on the tormented earth where our feet had left marks in the sludge and ooze before. The bent trees straightened somewhat and suddenly carried red and blue leaves and purple flowers. Some specimens even bore large fruit. Together, they cast a protecting shadow over the woods, blotting out the sky. Bushes and little green mounds formed from collapsed houses, a new archetype of landscape. 

Flowerbeds dotted the grassy floor. They shone in versatile colours. With petals of red, yellow, white or a very rare pearl and a pistil oozing mostly crimson and azure. An strange scent emanated off of the flowers and I found it exceedingly difficult to resist. Despite all this beauty however, I soon noticed a crucial detail to be missing. As amidst the freshly formed flowers and green, grassy glades there were missing the remains of those who would inhabit these lands. All of the corpses, living or not, had vanished. Nothing remained of the proud, human civilisation and their superior craftsmanship. A race of masons and carpenters, magic deniers and in conflict with the sinister elves who would propagate their gory gospel.

The three of us wandered down the path that led from the castle entrance to a clearing populated by healthy greenery and colourful plant life. The layout of the place was strikingly familiar until I realised that it was that very spot the small part of the hamlet once stood that we came through earlier. The original means of ingress we had taken - a melting house overcome with mould of which the wood was as soft as cotton as a result of tragic deformities - was blocked off. It appeared to have "grown shut". However, the once thick shrubbery that had been plagued by thorns and indestructible roots earlier was now clear. 

"Magnificent!", Shthelith exclaimed, "the curse appeareth to have been lifted. Ye work was good". Nephethys pointed up to a large nothing next to the castle bridge.

"Wasn't there supposed to be a huge throne room and a few watchtowers?", she asked nervously, for the events that had transpired were truly difficult to grasp and understand. But it was gone, along with what I assumed to be its "shadow version". Just how this trans-dimensional disappearance of space worked, I had no clue.

The absence of an entire wing of this structure unsettled the Dunmer deeply. Had we fallen into that bottomless pit we would have been gone as well to whatever place it vanished to. 

To rid myself of these grim thoughts I turned towards one of the colourful flowerbeds. I hadn't seen a proper flower, or any plant for that matter, in days at that point. Or was it weeks? You see, time becomes irrelevant when the colour of the sky never changes.  _ This will be the first flower I'll smell in weeks! _ I remember myself thinking when I went near the beautiful arrangement of petals and grass.  _ I wonder what they smell like _ I thought as I began to kneel down to inspect their olfactory qualities. The Hemerite armour had by then become very comfortable to wear, like a second hide fused to my skin, so I had no trouble bending down to get on the ground. But as I did, I noticed the grass curiously bending towards my knees. 

I thought nothing of it. And after all, I couldn't feel the grass because my armour was nigh impenetrable, especially at the knees and shin guards. I had no way of knowing that nature herself intended to warn me. 

I placed my nose directly above a blossoming flower with white petals. The crimson nectar was clearly visible. I inhaled, expecting a sweet smell but instead, my nostrils were assaulted by terrible putrefaction and rot. I instantly turned my head away from the pistil but I needed to know more and touched the petals. They were hard yet strangely flexible. Then the pistil opened and revealed not typical ovaries. Instead, an ooze reservoir encased in small teeth was visible.

"These are no ordinary flowers", I mumbled. "They are corpses".

Nephethys, Shthelith and I inspected the flowerbed closely and saw that each of the flowers blossomed with an opened pistil. However not every flower was the same, for there were specimens outfitted with red and soft petals, yellow petals that slowly melted or the very rare pearl that appeared to be as hard as granite. Likewise, there were two types of pistils - one with crimson ooze that would reveal a mouth of sorts; one with azure blue ooze that revealed an eye in the center that darted back and forth.

"What is this madness?", Nephethys whispered with unsteady voice. We had escaped one nightmare only to happen upon another. As Nephethys attempted to get down to the ground in order to examine the queer blossoms she cried out. Her hand with which she intended to support herself on the grass had been stung. The grass itself bent  _ towards _ her skin and her blood could be seen on its tips. 

All of us looked at each other in response and we couldn't help but look around. Everywhere around us was grass. Flowers that would open and release vile steam, leaves of trees that would begin to drop indefinable liquids. And we suddenly decided that we didn't want to know what it was that the fruits contained. 

"Don't. Fall.", I then said slowly. Almost paralysed by the ubiquitous threat of impalement we crept towards the only exit. We stood in the center of what used to be a small plaza of the village. Directly in front of us was the now overgrown path to the castle. Next to the great castle walls on the left hand side ran a second path that led into a small arrangement of shrubbery and bushes, out of the village.

Behind us was the barred off mound. A solid wall of roots and ivy. There were visible faint hints of a doorframe and windows but nothing one could feasibly traverse.

We walked on nervous feet and soft knees under thick branches and moist foliage. If we had been more oblivious in respect to the coat of needles under our boots we would have just walked. Instead, every step was taken with the utmost caution accompanied by a scrutinising look above us to avoid any fruits that may or may not dislodge from a tree.

Said fruits were rather huge. Elliptical in outline and a very light beige/rose in colour, they hung at least twenty to twenty-five pertans tall from the 400 pertan tall trees. They looked incredibly heavy compared to the branches that would support them. As if any slight disturbance could cause them to fall.

Based on our previous findings in this new environment we intended to not disturb the forest any further and be on our way. 

However, our oncoming destination would be no more promising. On our way through the thicket, Shthelith instructed us whence that path led and what our next item of interest would be. 

"Hither this way thou shalt meet the crimson sea and the cove that lay at a beach most foul. Ther thou may'st discov'r terrors from the abysses that surround the main land. It is said the cove leadeth to a world beneath the sea. Ther lieth the seal of flesh or so they say. Buried beneath the deepest fathoms. And this is whence our path shall take us. We require only the strength to follow it."

Upon inquiry, Shthelith told me more about the cove and its inhabitants. 

"I've never seen it for myself. But my kin went on pilgrimage in elder days. It's quite possible ye meet a few of my kind. As for the oder things that lurketh…", he paused to think and then continued. "I know of queer merfolk that dwelleth in the moist caverns below and great creatures that liveth in the sea."

Just then I recalled the unusual skeleton of a thing that appeared to be equal parts man and fish somewhere in the dry desert and asked myself if we should meet their living counterparts. And if they could be reasoned with or not. As I mentioned them Shthelith explained that the curious merfolk has rarely ever been seen by his kind, alluding to the existence of an underwater society. 

Supposedly a path ran through the forest with some acclivity to terminate in a barren hill overlooking the beaches, the sea and the various cave entrances into the wet underworld. From there we would have to climb down a steep incline with razor sharp rocks and possible, carnivorous insects living on the underside of a few stones. A few crude structures, erected by the merfolk, were said to stand in places of importance or special entrances into the subterranean tunnel system.

In order to get there the three of us had to follow a narrow road through the dense woods lined with corpse blossoms (the name we gave the ill flowers) and sharp grass. To either side stood tree after tree after tree, a good number of them carrying those strange fruits high up in the sky just below the tree tops that prevented any real daylight to reach the shadowy ground we trod. 

The journey to the hill Shthelith mentioned proved to be blissfully uneventful notwithstanding the devious plant life all around, above and below us. As we finally reached our destination past branches that almost seemed to try and hold us back from leaving the forest we beheld a scenery most disastrous. Yet, we had no time to contemplate our decision in respect to entering the cove for behind us, the fruits began to fall to the ground and the noises they made were enough to convince us to leave.


	6. History of the Seals

IX

There have been but few things in my time as head of the IID that burned themselves into my memory. I remember one such case of a pregnant, Imperial woman who had been hung naked from a tree like a fruit. Her unborn was forced outside to dangle just below her on the umbilical cord. "Two people hanged for the price of one!", I remember him saying triumphantly as he laughed in my face. That day I found the true evil that lurks within men. A part of me hoped to find the bandit chief in question, a man feared across many counties and holds, possessed by malignant spirits or even the Daedra themselves. But no, this was just who he was. Some men are born this way. And it was usually men like me to find and persecute them.

I also remember, however, that I violated protocol on that day. For the very first time no less. My men had the ruffians and outlaws at dagger's point as I moved towards their arrogant leader. He knew that it was merely my duty to put him and his ragtag band of brigands in chains to deliver the lot to the nearest county jail. But I had already decided that this man deserved a different kind of punishment. Conveniently, the bandit's smithy was still blazing and I wasted no time to push the leader's head into the fires with my sword's lledge. His screams couldn't bring back the two he had so gruesomely executed. But they were satisfactory enough for me. Thereafter I ordered my men to kill the rest and filed a report for "Resistance against agents of his majesty, The Emperor" and never spoke of it again.

The reason I was remembering this case in particular was because Nephethys, Shthelith and I stood at the outermost perimeter, the divide betwixt the forest and the coast. To our left, we saw the fruits fall from the branches and violently explode from whence came grotesque things crawling towards us that were not entirely unlike the dead woman and her fetus in appearance. To our right the beach of blood and brimstone, teeming with insects the size of newborn guars among the sharp rocks that led to an infernal sea. Far out in the distance I spied a maw as great as Masser devouring the horizon as another, equally as monstrous, fin got pushed underwater. Several holes in the ground amongst the stones and a few fetishes of probably religious purport marked the entrances into the underworld. The three of us had to fight either way but there was only one way forward.

To slip the attention of the monstrosities from the forest, we decided that it was tactically more beneficial to only have to deal with one group of foes at once. I was the first who took the plunge and slithered down the slope towards the beach. My hemerite armour protected me from injuries by the rocky floor, however the ginormous insects were another problem entirely. After I arrived at the beach I roused about a hundred of these things from their sleep. 

Chitin armour as thick as a finger, six legs and sclerotic elytra of an arm's length buzzed loudly around me. These beasts had maws not with teeth but with glands that produced a corrosive substance to liquefy any solid matter for them to drink. In my case, I was the prey and had my fair share of troubles to avoid the caustic spit. Meanwhile, Nephethys chose her own path down and through the field of razor sharp edges for her "legs" couldn't be truly harmed for obvious reasons. Shthelith on the other hand cumbersomely jumped and hopped about, right after Nephethys, to avoid grievous flesh wounds. His magic was useless to him if there was no blood to manipulate.

But I was yet again wrong about the blood elf. He was much more capable than I thought. To an unsettling degree, even. Shthelith arrived just beside Nephethys on the beach near the coast of the crimson sea as swathes of thirsty insects swarmed us. Nephethys and I did all we could to swat them away, cut them down but it was no use. Shthelith just stood there and gestured about. He then silently recited a prayer in his language and suddenly, a shadow darkened the sky.

The sea rose in a giant, bent column over our heads and came down swirling like a whirlwind. Shthelith broke out in wild incantations and lifted his hands. The blind eyes in his sockets appeared to vibrate as we found ourselves in the center of an aquatic nightmare. Partly transparent blood twisted and wound in a maelstrom of foetor. Through the waters I could make out the silhouettes of strange hybrid creatures and otherworldly species of fish and amphibians that were trapped in Shthelith's spell. With each passing second, more and more of the insects got pulled into the water all around us until there were none left. With another spoken word, the elf commanded the eye of the dead seas to retreat into the deep fathoms from whence it was summoned - and it took all life trapped inside with it.

Left were only the horrible stench and pools of blood all over the rocky beach. Just as if a bloody massacre had taken place where we stood. In both awe and shock I gazed at our saviour. His competence was undeniable. Within Shthelith there slumbered grandiose power waiting to be unleashed. He indubitably saw our puzzled expressions and gave an answer to a question we didn't get to ask.

"Blood magicke! Hemomancy. Thou may'st call it such. Lo, the primordial might a capable wizard calleth forth when fate giveth the chance. Thou must know, Thorus, that blood magicke increaseth its pow'r with a greater presence of blood. A hundred soldiers are nothing in the face of a blood mage who knoweth his craft. A sea of blood becometh a wellspring of unlimited destruction."

The implications I drew from his explanation were terrifying. However, it also explained the odour and the way the leftovers behaved on land. Before long, we stepped upon a somewhat sticky crust of dark red material that coated a good bit of our surroundings in response to Shthelith's spell. Now I knew that I had some of the most powerful allies on my side. With both Dunmer and Aímamer, Atebid could be destroyed and the great city of Bendicia taken. 

With that army of adversaries out of the way, we finally set foot into unfamiliar terrain. The many holes in the ground were 90 degree drops into a pelagic netherworld of uncertain depth. It didn't occur to me then that the waterspout the blood elf conjured might have attracted unwanted attention. If there was indeed life down there in the dank, musty depths they surely must have felt something shaking the sea over their heads. In our obliviousness, we looked for a suitable entrance into the unknown caverns that the blood elves called the Cove. 

There were naked holes in the stone floor but also some that had a small hut built above them. Others still sported aforementioned, religious fetishes on a pedestal in front of such a stone hut. 

"If thou chooses the right entrance belike it is that we survive", Shthelith said. Apparently, the different holes all marked different entrances into the underworld depending on the purpose of one's visit. "A grand system of caves and tunnels doth exist beneath our feet. Shthelith wouldn't know whither to go. Maybe thy intuition bringeth us thither. Delivereth us to the Seal."

He proposed I make the first step. This was perhaps the first time I questioned his true motives. I was no stupid man. I was fully capable of nuanced understanding. As such, I realised that a fall into perilous grounds would probably not kill me for my armour was unusually strong and curiously capable of deflecting even the most terrible of blows. If it wasn't, I would have died to the girl in the throne room when one of her tentacles crashed into my chest and threw me into a far off wall. Due to my uncommon, corporeal resilience, I became a test subject for things involving physical harm. On the other hand, it was quite practical to know that my body was not easily broken anymore. All I ever had to worry about was my head for the armour lacked a helmet or mask.

I carefully surveyed the choices laid out before me and ruled out all the holes without any significant features. I didn't feel comfortable with them as I feared they might lead nowhere. I favoured the ones that had the fetishes stand perched atop their pedestals before them. If these are entrances into some religiously motivated underbelly of the land they must be at least safe enough to traverse, I figured. 

The little statues seemed to portray extraordinary things I had trouble recognising. Were they lifeforms, items, weapons, symbols? I couldn't tell. Sometimes I fancied I saw teeth and tails, sometimes strange swords or gemstones that all swirled together as one thing. There were eyes and mouths but also pillars and gates all as one entity. I hoped with all my heart these were no gods that the merfolk revered. 

Among them, one statuette in particular stood out. It was of a metal gleaming in strange opalescence - dark blue hues mingled with rainbows arranged in disturbingly angular, repeating patterns. Metallic, gleaming squares grew from a central shape that must have, at one point, been a cube. It was of unparalleled purity and looked entirely natural so that there was nothing artificial about it. 

I reached out to touch it, as all humans do out of curiosity, and retracted my hand thereafter quickly as strange vibrations prohibited my interactions with it. The object sung a tune in a foreign wavelength, or so Shthelith explained, and did not permit outside interference unless great amounts of power were used to change the wavelength of the wielder. However, we could pass by the object freely and I decided the three of us should go down that hole to explore what it hid. 

We stood circumjacent to the abyss before us, at the precipice to the underworld. A horrible stench filled the air as clouds of foulness rose from within. They lived there, in the rot and cold expanses of the hungry caverns below. Just how we'd get down was another question. I could drop myself down and put my trust in the suit of armour that I wore to protect me from the impact. Unless there were devious traps laid out for unsuspecting prey such as us.

Nephethys could surely stick her leg blades into the stone walls to slowly clamour downward. And Shthelith proposed he'd sample some of the nearby sea and use it to float down the hole - the way he suspected the locals to do it as well.

I was the first to go and so, I focused my mind on my hand to hold me in place as I tried to climb down the hole instead of letting myself fall. I knew I could use a hook, a needle or a pick to hold on to the surrounding walls and secretly wished for such an object. In that moment, my hand that had been crushed in the jail before, now fused with the bloodthirsty stone, transmuted into a sharp and pointy object, not unlike a traditional meat hook, its make of flesh, bone and hemerite. Even I myself could only just bear to look at this hideous mutation. As I felt a deep repulsion towards the thing that I've created, the object morphed back into the hand that I was used to and the magic was over as quickly as it had begun.

"You never cease to surprise, Thorus. How did you do that?", I remember Nephethys asking with an appropriate amount of wonder. I could only shake my head in disbelief. I didn't know. The existence of transmutation magic had never occurred to me, neither did I know how one would learn or even master such an art. I tried again to focus on my hand while I conjured up an image in my mind of such a classical meat hook to see as to whether or not my thoughts could actively influence the outcome. A few moments later and there it was, albeit a little disturbing to view. An abject amalgamation of sinew, bone and blood in various states of matter shaped itself to form a hook where my hand used to be. 

I looked at my other hand with an equal amount of concentration and, surprisingly, managed to do the same to it although it was not the affected hand that first received the blow that would merge stone with flesh. Had the hemerite in my blood begun to infect my whole body? Shthelith beheld this gory spectacle of transmutation with glee as the second hook formed itself from hardened muscle and purulent meat. The sight was enough to make my skin crawl but with a change of thoughts I was able to change the form of my extremities at will.

"A most curious power thou'st been given. By chance no less! Who could have foreseen? Thorus. Thou'rt a blood mage now. If of a less incorporeal sort. A shapeshifter thou hast become thru the sacred stones of my ancestors. A blessing of divine purport doth come over thee and thou wilt find more uses for thy new abilities in due time."

Shthelith prophesied limitless power if I would manage to master the tools that fate had bestowed upon me. Now I was able to, in the truest sense of the word, shape my flesh.

X

My newfound capabilities as a shapeshifter proved to be invaluable to our pursuits. Whereas Shthelith and Nephethys had a relatively easy time traveling downward through the hole, I would have had my difficulties if not for the hooks that I morphed my hands into. I wasn't yet able to fully control how and in what manner the things that I envisioned would manifest themselves on my body, however. Notwithstanding a certain lack of control I made my way down the abyss swiftly and without any complications. Although I must say that hacking into the wet rock was quite painful as I had not been fully able to shield my naked flesh from the outside world. 

A hemerite armour does not look dissimilar to a 4th Era Daedric armour minus most of the downwards-pointing hook-blades and dangerous embellishments upon the ebony plating. What made both types of armour so alike was the fact that both used blood as a special ingredient in their manufacturing process. However, whereas Daedric armour usually required a somewhat ritualistic use of Daedric hearts (be it from Dremora or another humanoid species or from the various beasts that inhabit the astral planes), hemerite required to be completely and utterly soaked in blood prior to smelting and shaping it. And then the smith must work quickly lest it hardens and becomes nigh unbreakable. Once hardened, the piece can never be smelted again.

Due to the crimson essence in the crafting of these types of armour they do look similar to each other. Hemerite by itself is as black as ebony which adds to the list of similarities. The way a finished piece of armour looks is entirely up to the blacksmith who forged it and many pieces look different because of the haste with which the crafter must work before the material becomes solid.

Only in my case, the material became malleable post forging because of several factors that I never truly understood. All I remember is that it had to do with the way my blood resonated with the world at large and what veins had merged with parts of the rock and at which time and how much blood could nurture it until I awoke. I am certain that there are metaphysical formulae that could explain the back and forth of different forces but throughout my entire time in those forsaken realms, I never came across such scientific documents. 

But that was of no concern to me. I knew that I was now able to bend my physical form to my will and, with practice, could possibly unleash doom upon my enemies. These new tools were the reason I reached the bottom of the hole in the first place. And while regret slowly gained purchase as I drew closer to the ground, I was thankful that I could even reach this far. If I ever intended to leave the Painted World, I had no choice but to go forward.

Nephethys and Shthelith were quick to follow me to the bottom. While the large, cylindrical opening that led to the caverns was pitch black, a natural luminescence inhabited the caves proper. We stood in a large, circular antechamber that had in its center what I would describe as a deep pool or well. Probably for the merfolk to dive into when they flung themselves down the hole from the beach. The outlines of the pool, that was just as round in shape as the vestibule we were in, were adorned with alien markings in a script I've never seen before. From the pool ran a straight, narrow tunnel into dimly lit rooms of unknowable contents.

Even from up above, when one stood at the edge of the earthen aperture, one's olfactory senses almost melted with the overwhelming reek of strange kinds of decomposed fish, meat and other organic materials. But the further I crawled down, the less bearable it got. Moist air, thick with rot so that I felt a wet film gather upon the skin of my face. It was somehow worse than the insides of a digesting shredmound, that most damnable of all parasitic life forms I had the misfortune of coming across. The caverns below were warm - as was the sea - to account for the crimson liquid all around. And the inherent warmth was probably the most unsettling feature of this new area.

The ubiquity of blood in the cove didn't help that and it tempted the avid hemomancer to haughtiness and arrogance. An unlimited supply of power at one's fingertips. But Shthelith knew better than to become careless. As he put it:

"Albeit my magicke yearneth to be used utterly at the presence of this much blood I must contain myself. I am not invincible. The merfolk knoweth my kind well and hath develop'd techniques to repel invaders such as myself. Prithee be careful. I am no more stronger than ye are."

What these countermeasures looked like Shthelith didn't know. But rumours in his hometown had it that with each passing decade, the merfolk got more skilled at hunting and killing the blood elves that would trespass upon their sacred grounds. It had always been a war for territory.

The Aímamer went on pilgrimage to the crimson sea to pray to their various, blood-related deities and hone their abilities of hemomancy. The beaches were a frequently used proving ground for new spells and different ways to use this school of magic that is seldom even mentioned on Nirn. However, more often than not did the practicing elves desecrate the hallowed sites and shrines the merfolk built and defiled them with complete disregard for the sacred statuettes and religious huts. This did inevitably lead to a conflict that would last a few hundred years and reached its climax apparently only twenty or so years before Nephethys and I were thrust through the painting. At that point in time, the merfolk had battled the blood elves for long enough to know them in and out so Shthelith, even if empowered by all of the blood in the moist caverns, was as much prey to the merfolk as we were.

Elves haven't been seen around those parts in over two centuries but there we were, with a blood elf in tow.

"Your race did wage a lot of war against this world's people, didn't they?", Nephethys asked.

"Oh, well, the other races did ne'er appreciate our customs. In the end, we were condemn'd frivolous and unnatural. The humans and the merfolk sought our end. They could not accept our ways and would wage war after war. We prevail'd. But our great city lieth curs'd, our hamlets in ruins. My kin, doom'd to wander a wasteland. For this reason I strive to unmake the spell that bindeth Bendicia to an accurs'd existence. Many a place fell to the darkness as ye have seen and travers'd thyselves. And I seek to undo the critical imbalance in time, space and magicke. Thereby ye may return to your home dimension ye call Nirn and heal these barren wastes, rid them of their decay."

Shthelith implied that the three seals might not only unlock the gates to the great city that had been sealed off decades ago. They may also imbue its walls with new power to dispel the various curses that plague the hungering and diseased lands around it. In a way, Bendicia was vital to the entire world. "As long as it is diseas'd, the land will be also. Like a gangrenous heart that striketh down a body foul with illness".

To an extent, the land lived and breathed through the central temple in the city's heart, he told us. We walked a bit further down the corridor, dodging stalactites and blood drops, as Shthelith told us more about Bendicia. 

"In elder days, it is told, the grand city, a shining beacon in the center of the world, shone in the rays of a golden sun. Long ago, the three races of humans, merfolk and my kin, the elves, liv'd as equals within Bendicia's walls. One district for each race, arrang'd in a circle around the great temple. Each race chose one representative that bore the seal of their people."

"The Seal of Bone for the humans, who work'd hard to tend to the earth, forest and plains. The Seal of Blood for the merfolk, who inhabited the netherworld beneath the crimson sea and kept it pure for eternity. And lastly, the Seal of Flesh, bestow'd upon the elves who dwelleth in the mountains, keeping their essence conceal'd to outsiders."

He paused. I could see the worry in his eyes as he reminisced about the stories he got told and now relayed to us. "A traitor from long ago, one of my kind, murder'd the keepers of the seals and hex'd them with a devious spell. They lock'd the gates to the city with them and everyone inside died a slow and painful death. Thereafter the wars against the elves began and the traitor was never caught. Now, so many centuries later, the seals found their way back into their rightful places. But the hexes that lieth upon them would forever doom those that sought to protect it."

"It is said that the undead roameth the lifeless halls of Bendicia. And that the lands that formerly protected the seals were no more than twisted death traps now. Haunted by the malformed remains of their people."

Nephethys and I took a moment to let the information sink in. If the stories were right then we trod unhallowed grounds. Just as Shthelith finished his tale, the three of us entered another chamber. 

A shipwreck of unknown make was visible to our left, sunken beneath the waves and pulled down into the caves by one of the impossibly big creatures that live in the sea above. A dead crew was still floating about in the subterranean waters. One of many human vessels, Shthelith explained, that tried to find the limits of the damned oceans and failed spectacularly. None of the brave mariners ever came back from their voyages. And the cove would forever be their grave and consume them.

We marched forward on the slippery floor, past queerly pulsating corals and eyed barnacles that had made the shipwreck their home. Weird, stone idols were carved into the wall to our right. I attempted to examine the carved art when I got interrupted by a most unscrupulous visitor with fins, scales, and a particular taste for the flesh of men.


End file.
